Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?
by Solomynne
Summary: Sara and Grissom are asked to go undercover as a newlywed couple so they can catch a killer. set before GSR was canon. rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N hey everybody, this is an idea I've been kicking around for a while now, and just decided to go with. I hope you like it, and if you don't, you're completely entitled. Just don't be mean about it. Any and all comments are appreciated, love on you all! Oh, and for the story's sake, let's just pretend that the FBI aren't experts in forensics? – Solomynne_

_Disclaimer: nope. Not mine,_

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_- Secret secrets are no fun, secret secrets hurt someone._

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It takes a lot to scare me.

It takes even more to surprise me; which is why, even all this time later, just thinking about what happened that night still scares the freaking shit out of me. It was a warm night in the early spring, Grissom and I had gotten a call about a body in the desert. The air had that really sweet, soft smell that I like, the kind that's only around in the warmer seasons. With the blanket of stars above us and a soft breeze playing across my skin, the situation might have even been romantic, had it not been for the fact that we were both crouched next to a rotting corpse. She was a female, brunette, around 24 years old. Someone had called it in anonymously.

I stifled a yawn and checked my watch. Oh good, only seven hours and forty-five minutes left on my shift, assuming no overtime, which is assuming a lot. Grissom glanced at me briefly. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

We both knew damn well that I didn't. Where the Hell else would I go? But I spared the seventeen or whatever muscles it takes to frown and turned my attention back to the corpse. It was too dark for him to have noticed my glare anyway, so I settled with a simple, "No. Not really."

He looked back at me, and I couldn't quite be sure, but in the blue starlight he almost looked concerned. "You've stopped sleeping again, haven't you?"

I looked away from him. He was the only one I ever really talked to about my insomnia. I'm kind of sensitive about it, don't ask me why. Maybe because it's just one more thing I have to add to the old "Sara Sidle's Freakshow Habits" list. It had been getting better for a while, but it had started to get really bad again about a month before. I could feel him waiting for an answer, and I never could bring myself to lie to him, so I nodded quickly as I stared at the ground, still refusing to meet his gaze. I was way too scared that I'd look into those blue eyes and see pity staring back at me.

I breathed out heavily and prayed to God that David would get here so we could start processing the body. He'd gotten lost, as usual, and so Grissom and I had satisfied ourselves by getting as close as we could without touching the body, taking pictures and noting evidence. I could sense Grissom beside me, trying to think of something comforting to say, or just something to fill the silence between us. I spared him the trouble when I noticed something in the dirt by her hair. "Hey, Griss? I think we missed something."

I leaned over him, my breasts accidentally brushing against his knees as I stretched my arm out with my Maglite to get a better look. I felt him tense underneath me and laughed to myself as I knew he was debating whether it would be more awkward to move out from under me or stay put and stick it out. Ignoring his obvious discomfort, I squinted at what looked like a piece of latex, but still being careful not to disturb the body. At this point, basically on my hands and knees, I turned my head toward the victim. It was then I noticed that her eyes were strangely clear. They were a spectacular green, and they lacked all the glassy vacancy that you come to expect with a dead body. "Hey Grissom…." I moved my face closer to hers, my eyes still locked in her unmoving gaze. Until she blinked, that is.

I screamed like I have never screamed before, a scream so high and shrill that to this day I cringe when I think of it. I cringe, but not as badly as I cringe when I think of how I sprang/toppled backwards into Grissom, knocking him down in a very ungraceful, and totally Sara-esque fashion.

Grissom, obviously flabbergasted at the fact that I was lying on top of him, froze for a moment before composing himself enough to lift me partially off of him so he could see my face. I put an arm out, shaking, to hold myself up as he cupped a hand behind my head and forced me to meet his steady gaze. "Are you alright?! What happened??"

My heart was still hammering against my chest, and it took me a moment before I could catch my breath enough to say, "She's alive."

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I hate hospitals. I know that everybody says that, but I think I mean it more than most people do. I think I have reason to mean it more. Every time I walk through those emergency doors, and that familiar smell of piss and 409 washes over me, it's like I'm nine years old again. I'm nine years old and I'm lying to some doctor about how I fell and broke my wrist, or I cut myself on a knife, or I walked into a door. It was no different as I walked into Desert Palms with Grissom and Brass, having followed close behind the ambulance carrying the girl. I shook my head, chasing away the memories that were rolling into my mind like a miserable fog. Grissom saw this and gave me his signature "What the hell are you doing, Sara" look, but thankfully said nothing.

Brass walked over and talked to a nurse with a nametag that said Mabel on it. I didn't think people named their daughters Mabel anymore. The grim detective sauntered back to us, sighing tiredly before informing us that the girl was in a coma.

"Apparently," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "she was hit in the back of the head with a blunt object. She must have stopped breathing for a moment or two, or maybe whoever it was that called it in wasn't looking very closely, but she is very much alive."

I thought of her green eyes staring at me pleadingly. "Is she going to wake up?"

Brass shrugged, the seams of his rumpled brown suit stretching. "They don't know, it's too soon to tell. Comas are tricky things, Sara; they're still not even sure how she managed to blink at you when she has been completely unresponsive for the last half hour."

"Well I didn't imagine it," I retorted, feeling defensive. Grissom laid a hand on my arm, and I softened, the warmth in his touch helped to calm me, a little.

"No one's saying you did, Sara. But until she wakes up, all we can do is process the scene." He let go of me but I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my arm.

"Well what about her? Shouldn't one of us stay and process her for evidence?"

Grissom nodded, "You're right. Why don't you stay, find out all you can about the type of weapon that may have been used, maybe see if you can get an ID, and don't forget to do an S.A.E. kit." He had already started towards the door, and it took all my willpower not to call out to him to stop. I didn't want to stay; I didn't want him to leave me there. In fact that was the last thing I wanted to do, and I was angry at myself for being so stupid as to actually suggest that someone stay, knowing that "someone" would be me. Instead, despite all those things, I told him I'd meet him at the crime scene.

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Two hours later, and feeling very uncomfortable in my own skin, I practically ran out of the hospital doors, inhaling the early morning air deeply. The first hints of dawn were splashed across the sky in a brilliant display of pinks, purples, and oranges, scattered with a handful of stubborn stars that were too bright to be drowned out just yet. I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool cement wall of the hospital, gathering my thoughts. I hadn't been able to find an ID in the torn remnants of her clothing, but what I did know was that the young woman had been raped, and severely beaten. It's so strange to go over every inch of someone's body, see them at their most vulnerable, and not even know so much as their name.

If I'd thought my insomnia was bad before, I could only imagine how it would be with the new addition of her pale, broken face haunting my dreams. I let out a sigh and pushed off from the wall. Grissom had asked an officer to wait for me outside to give me a ride back to the crime scene, but he was apparently nowhere to be found. I did a once over of the parking lot, keeping an eye out for a black and white; nothing. "Great, that's just fantastic, Officer Shit-For-Brains, leave me stranded at the hospital," I growled to myself, reaching into my pocket for my cellphone. I was about to push the one down on my speed dial, so I could ask Grissom to come and get me, when I felt a heavy hand clamp down on my shoulder.

I shot into the air for the second time that shift, but I'm happy to say that this time I managed not to scream. One point for me. I spun around to see who my attacker was, hand going to my gun by instinct, and came face to face with Officer S-F-B himself. It was all I could do not to attack _him_. The cop, whose real name was Devlin as it turns out, was a tall, watery-eyed, blonde with a receding hairline and big front teeth. He raised his hands in mock fear and exclaimed, "Whoa, easy there! It wasn't me, I swear!"

His rendition of false fear soon turned to the genuine kind as he saw the ferocious look on my face. He chuckled nervously and mumbled an awkward apology, leading the way to where he'd parked. A very silent car ride later, we pulled up to the perimeter of the scene, the tell-tale yellow tape crisscrossing against the morning sunrise. The scene looked empty, until I saw a tall shadow stand up and wave. I got out of the car without a "thank you" to Officer Devlin, and headed towards Grissom. He held the tape up for me as I ducked under, thanking him with a smile. "Find anything?"

He shook his head with obvious frustration registering on his face, "Not really. How did you make out?"

I ran a hand through my hair and sank down onto the wooden crate he'd been using as a seat, "About the same." He pulled up a crate and sat down next to me. It felt nice to be there with him, sitting together watching the sun come up. It was almost like we might have just been two friends, or two lovers even, chatting about life and enjoying a sunrise. I felt the fiery orange light slowly washing over my face and I closed my eyes to its warmth, drinking it in. I felt Grissom watching me and opened an eye to confirm. I assumed he was waiting for me to go on, so I said, "She was raped."

He looked thoroughly confused and I opened the other eye to look at him full on. "…who was?" he asked.

My mouth dropped open in exasperation, "the victim!"

"Oh! Of course, how – is she going to be okay?" he stuttered his way through the sentence looking visibly out of sorts. I eyed him suspiciously for a moment and then decided to let it go.

"They don't know yet, I gave them my number to call me with any news. So you didn't find anything at all?" I asked, changing the subject to something a little more hopeful

He removed his glasses and rested his arms on his knees. It was then that I noticed how tired he looked, and I realized that maybe I wasn't the only one who was having a rough time as of late. I emerged from my thoughts in time to hear him say, "Some questionable footprints and that piece of latex you found are the only things worth mentioning."

I patted his knee gently in an effort to comfort him, wanting to be able to do more but knowing I shouldn't. He gave me a crooked smile and rested his hand on top of my own. "Let's not give up on this just yet. We still haven't run her prints or DNA; we may just identify Our Lady of the Desert after all."

I laughed softly at his optimism, and I felt him squeeze my hand ever so slightly. I had learned long before not to question, or read too far into these kinds of moments between Grissom and I, but rather to just enjoy them. So, watching the sunrise with Grissom's hand in mine, that is exactly what I did.

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"Ah! I dropped my spoonie!" Greg exclaimed as the spoon he'd been stirring his coffee with clattered to the floor. Grissom look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and Greg flushed. "I've…been babysitting my niece over the weekend. It seems a few of her choice vocab words have worked their way into my own."

"Okay Greg," was his short reply, before he buried his nose back into his crossword.

I was seated next to Grissom in the break room, a cup of chamomile in one hand, and a trashy gossip magazine in the other. We'd decided to take a much-deserved break after doing some backed-up paperwork of Grissom's while we waited for a hit on our mystery girl. Now, as I sat ready to dive into the lives of Britney and K-fed, Hodges hung by his fingertips on the doorframe with a print-out in his hand and a smug look on his face.

"Jennifer Kostuik."

I put my tea down with a sigh. "Who?"

"Your mystery victim, her prints were on file for petty theft back in the early nineties. Her name's Jennifer Kostuik, I've got her address listed right here." He waggled the paper in front of his face like you would a milk bone to a dog, and then handed it to Grissom silently when he got no response.

"Good work, Hodges," said Greg, in an effort to be friendly.

The lab rat's eyes narrowed at his would-be nemesis. "So what, you get to act like my superior now?"

Greg looked taken-aback, "No, I was just--"

"Well let me assure you I don't need your recognition," Hodges interrupted.

"Thank you, David, this is very helpful," Grissom chimed in dismissively. Hodges' face melted into a worshipping smile. He nodded graciously and turned on his heel without a word, giving Greg and I a chance to roll our eyes at each other.

"It looks like we'll be making a trip to Summerlin," Grissom said softly, removing his glasses, "to visit the home of Ms. Kostuik."

"Well before you go on vacation," came Jim Brass's gravelly voice from the door, "I'm going to need to talk to you, Gil." Grissom raised his eyebrows and stood in curiosity, and Brass then fixed his gaze on me, jabbing a stubby finger in my direction, "You too."

I stood to leave, my curiosity also piqued, and Greg sat up in his seat, "Hey Brass, what about me?"

"Take five Greg, you've earned it," came the short reply as Brass led the way out of the break room.

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The blue light of the meeting room cast our faces into shadow as we entered. A man in a charcoal business suit sat, back straight, with both palms flat on the metal table. He looked up as we entered, his black eyes hard and glittering, but made no move to stand, or even smile. I immediately took a great disliking to him; he made me so uneasy I wanted to grab Grissom's hand for comfort. He looked down his nose at us, his smooth, clean-shaven face and black, slicked hair only adding to his sinister demeanor. Grissom and I seated ourselves directly across from him, and I began to wonder if perhaps we were in trouble for something. I started to get a bit panic-y for a moment, my mind racing through the past few weeks to see if I could come up with something that would be worth getting into trouble for. I couldn't remember having pissed off Ecklie recently, but I didn't rule it out. I never rule that out, the man is entirely too sensitive.

My mind was still whirling when the man began to speak, his voice, soft and predatory, making my skin prick, "Mr. Grissom, Ms. Sidle, I need your help."

Grissom raised an eyebrow and bluntly spoke, "Who _are _you, exactly?"

The man smiled briefly, if you could call it smiling, it was more creepy than anything. His thin lips stretched mirthlessly across his even white teeth for a moment, before sliding back into the perma-frown he seemed to have going on. "My apologies sir, I assumed Captain Brass would have made the necessary introductions already. It appears I was mistaken."

Brass' face remained stony, and he said nothing in response save for a barely perceptible snort that I think only I heard.

The suit held out his well-manicured hand for Grissom, and then me. I very reluctantly grasped his cold fingers, and it took all of my willpower to not yank back my own. His grip was ferocious, as though he were trying to get across to me that the strength of his hand was only the beginning; that if he wanted, he could crush me as easily as the fingers he was crushing now. I locked eyes with him and refused to blink, let him break all my fingers, I wasn't going to back down for this jerk.

After several seconds too many he let go of my hand, but his dark eyes remained burning into mine like a never-ending flame. Grissom, sensing the tension, cleared his throat quietly, reminding whoever it was that was trying to swallow me whole in his gaze that he had still yet to introduce himself. The man blinked three times, rapidly, and the trance was broken. I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding, and wiped my hand off on my pant leg under the table. I gave Grissom a grateful look and forced myself not to lunge over the arm of my chair and kiss him in gratitude.

"My name is Jeffery Palmer, I'm with the FBI." I immediately felt Grissom's hackles rising at the mention of the feds. He'd had some bad experiences in the past, and he seemed reluctant to make any further attempts at working with them. "I have reason to believe that the young woman you found today is the latest victim of a serial killer that the FBI has tagged as 'Trash Can Man'. We call him that because of his preference for wrapping his victims in trash bags and throwing them in dumpsters."

"An excellent reference to Stephen King's _The Stand_ also," mused Grissom. "The only problem is Jennifer Kostuik wasn't found in either of those things. She hadn't been wrapped in anything, and we found her in the desert."

Agent Palmer leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, "I believe that Trash was interrupted by someone, or something, which is why Ms. Kostuik is still alive. Had he been given enough time, I assure you she would have turned up in a back alley somewhere."

Grissom removed his glasses, "What makes you so sure of that?"

"That, I'm afraid, is on a need-to-know basis only, Mr. Grissom," replied Palmer, leaning back in his chair.

"Well if you want us to be able to help you," I retorted, "we're going to 'need to know'. Everything." Palmer's eyes flicked to me once more, and I sincerely began to regret saying anything, but I knew I was right, so I pressed on, "You can't expect us to catch this guy if we're going in blind." I could see Grissom nodding in agreement out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my eyes on Palmer.

"When I asked for your help, Ms. Sidle, that's not exactly what I had in mind."

Grissom and I looked at each other in confusion, Grissom asking, "Well if you don't want us for our forensic expertise, what exactly is it that we can do for you?" Right then, I knew that this wasn't going to be any regular case. It was as though Grissom's words rang with a foreboding fullness that could only mean trouble.

Palmer smiled his crooked smile once more and began, "I need you to go undercover for me." Grissom and I stared at him as though he were a lamp that had just started talking. "I see you're confused, allow me to explain. Ms. Sidle fits Trash Can's profile for his desired victims perfectly—"

"Let me stop you right there," Grissom said, standing. "We've been down this road before with the Feds, and this time you won't be going over my head. Sara is NOT going to be your prey for this sicko, so you can find some other lamb for the slaughter, because I won't allow it to happen again."

Palmer stood as well, and I found myself staring up at them, looking from one to the other as they tried to decide my fate for me. Palmer raised his hands in defense, "Now you didn't even hear me out, just let me give you my proposal."

"Why waste your time?" Grissom answered harshly, "You can't have her." Hearing him say that made me angry and turned on at the same time, if that's even possible. Who was he to be "giving" me to anyone? Then again it was nice to have him standing up for me.

"Mr. Grissom, please. Just allow me to finish." Palmer gestured for Grissom to sit back down, and after a moment, he did. "Now I've read up on both of you, I'm well aware of Ms. Sidle's previous adventures with the FBI, and I'm also aware of the terrible outcome, but this is different. We have managed to hone in on Trashy's location to one specific neighborhood in Summerlin. Now, what I need to catch him is a pair of non-civilians with forensic training to pose as a couple moving into the area and case the neighborhood." Grissom and I stared at him in bewilderment. "Ms. Sidle would be ideal because, as she fits the description of someone who would attract Trash, she may be able to draw him out. But I promise that neither of you would be in any danger."

"And why is it that your own officers can't do this?" I asked quietly, "I mean, isn't this the exact kind of thing that the FBI trains for? Surveillance?"

"Yes, normally you would be correct, but as I said, your forensic expertise would be invaluable to us in this case. Once we're able to track this guy down, I need you to be able to collect any evidence surrounding his property that could be used to convict him, so far we have next to nothing. But I need you to be able to do it in an inconspicuous way, meaning that if he's seen you around the neighborhood he'll be less likely to be suspicious of you sniffing around his house."

"And how are we going to 'track him down'?" asked Grissom, still obviously very against the idea.

"Well, go for walks around the neighborhood together, go grocery shopping, take your dog to the park, just allow yourselves to be _seen_. I'm sure Trash is always on the lookout for his latest victim, and I believe that he does have contact with them before he attacks them. There never seem to be very many defense wounds, which leads me to believe that his victims trust him. I'm going to have some of my guys following you around, they'll be keeping track of anyone who approaches you and fits the profile."

I looked at Grissom to see how he was feeling about all this, but his expression was unreadable. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. It was exciting to get to be a part of a big operation like this, but living with Grissom, pretending to be lovers….that's just rubbing salt in the wound.

"There's one other thing," continued Palmer, his dark eyes flashing, "I've already spoken to your supervisor Ecklie about this. He's given me the go-ahead."

"Meaning what?" scoffed Grissom, "You can't exactly drag us to Summerlin by our hair. You can't force us to do this."

"No, not at all," came Palmer's reply, his voice dangerously soft. "But Ecklie _can _make things a little more difficult for you around here. I understand you've just gotten your team back, Mr. Grissom." He raised an eyebrow, "It would be a shame if you lost them again."

Grissom stood up so quickly his chair flipped backwards, knocking into the wall. "Come on Sara, we're out of here," he said to me without looking at Palmer. I was so startled at the events of the last few minutes it took me a moment to react, so Grissom impatiently grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my chair, leading me out of the room.

I thought he would stop once we got back to the break room, but he didn't slow down, or even let go of my arm. Instead, he quickened his pace, deaf to my protests of "Ow! Hey, lemme go!" and "where the Hell are we going?" He didn't stop until we were out the front doors, across the parking lot, and standing outside of his Denali. He unlocked the doors and motioned for me to get in. I was so confused at this point I just decided to go for it. I slid into the pleather seat and closed the door behind me, waiting for him to do the same. I reached behind me to buckle up, when I felt his hand on my shoulder, "Don't bother, Sara, we're not going anywhere."

"What?" I asked, "Grissom…"

"I just had to get out of there for a moment, to gather my wits. And to cool off so I didn't punch that Palmer jerk in the face."

I smiled. "He's not exactly a candidate for a congeniality award, is he?" Grissom's mouth twitched into a half smile. I sighed and leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. "So what do you think of all this?"

He followed suit and leaned back in his chair. "What do _you_ think?"

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "I think I would hate to see the team spilt up again."

He sighed, his blue eyes staring out the windshield, and then into my own. "I think I agree with you there. It doesn't look like he's giving us much of a choice, does it?"

"Look," I started, leaning up on an elbow, "Just because this guy is an asshole doesn't mean that the case he's working isn't important. If there are women being murdered, let's let that be the reason that we agree to do this. Not because we were scared into it. Besides, I make a pretty good roommate."

He smiled at the steering wheel and then turned to me, "So we're really going to do this? The "Nerd Squad" doing a stint as undercover agents?"

I laughed, "I guess so. Only the real undercovers will be watching _us_."

He looked at me for a long time, and then turned to stare out the window again, speaking softly to his reflection, "_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"_

"What does that mean?" I asked, watching the image of him in the window.

He looked up and the reflection of his eyes met mine. "Who will watch the watchers?"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: hey guys, thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read (and comment!) my first chapter, I'm glad so many people are liking it so far! I will eventually reply to all your comments, but it may take me a while, as I'm currently putting off my biology assignment to finish this. In addition to that, it's nearly 200am and I have to be up for work, so how about everyone forgives me for any spelling/grammar errors? Love you al,_

_Sol._

_Disclaimer: not mine!_

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_Sex will cover your black machines._

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"You have got to be kidding me."

"What?"

It was the late afternoon, and I sat on the front steps of the lab watching Grissom approach with the smallest suitcase ever made. The sun was low in the sky, and its familiar golden light felt wonderful on my face as I waited for him, surrounded by two very large, very full pieces of luggage.

"What have you got in there, a pair of boxers and a toothbrush?" I asked incredulously.

"And a razor," was his curt reply. Sometimes I can never tell if he's joking. He glanced at the large bags flanking me and rolled his eyes, pushing one aside so he could sit next to me. The sun filtered through his silver hair, making it glow.

"What have you got in these? Your entire wardrobe?" he asked, grunting at the weight of my luggage. "And some rocks?"

"We…don't know how long we're going to have to be doing this, is it so wrong to be prepared?" I answered defensively.

"Yes, if we need to build a base for a fire, or stone someone to death, you will be very well prepared," he answered through a smile. I laughed softly, tucking my hair behind my ear. I was in the middle of trying to think of something biting to come back with when someone cleared their throat loudly behind us, interrupting the comfortable banter. I turned and looked up from my seat on the steps, the smile immediately vanishing from my face as I met eyes with Agent Palmer, who was frowning down at me disapprovingly.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked coldly.

"Hello to you too, Special Agent," I answered merrily, my words dripping with false warmth. I felt Grissom kick me lightly and took the hint. I wasn't about to piss this guy off and get our team split up just because I didn't like his attitude.

Grissom, obviously deciding that I was incapable of saying anything civil to Palmer, chimed in, "We're all packed, and ready to leave whenever you are."

"I'll be giving you a debriefing before you leave, then my associate Officer Devlin will be driving you to a gas station just outside of Summerlin, where you will pick up the vehicle provided and drive the rest of the way."

"Did you say Devlin?" I asked warily, turning to see the blonde oaf from the hospital the other morning waving idiotically from the parking lot. "Oh, for the love of –"

"Wouldn't it just be easier for us to drive straight from here?" interrupted Grissom quickly.

Palmer, his crisp, black suit making him look pale and sickly, replied icily, "The first thing I'll be teaching you in our meeting this morning is to do as you're told, and not ask any questions. Under no circumstances are you to interfere with my plans, Mr. Grissom."

Grissom pursed his lips so tightly I thought they were going to disappear. I turned my head and hid a smile behind my hair, glad that I wasn't the only one that wasn't exactly making friends with Palmer.

"Now if the two of you will come with me, Devlin will put your things in the car."

Grissom folded his arms in annoyance and followed, while I glanced over my shoulder to see Devlin drop one of my suitcases in a puddle. It was going to be a long day.

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An hour later we emerged from the lab, our eyes blinking against the setting sun. I stretched my arms behind my head and yawned, trying to rid my head of all the "Do's and Don'ts" of being part of an undercover team. "Well _that_ was terrible."

Grissom shielded his eyes with a hand, "It wasn't exactly a cockroach race, I'll give you that." I rolled my eyes at him as he scanned the parking lot.

He squinted at nothing in particular and then dropped his hand to his side, "Isn't this Devlin guy supposed to be giving us a ride?"

I scoffed, "Oh he'll turn up, just give it a second." He glanced at me quizzically until, sure enough, the dunderhead emerged from around the side of the building with an In-and- Out burger in his hand. Well, part of it was in his hand, the rest was smeared across the lower half of his face.

"Oh, hey guys!" he called, waving his burger hand, lettuce flying. We walked down the steps and fell into stride with him as he headed for the small compact undercover car he'd been assigned. "You want a bite?" he asked, offering the half-masticated sandwich to me.  
"Ugh," I said, wrinkling my nose, "No thanks."

"Mr. Grissom?"

"I'll pass, thanks Devlin."

The cop shrugged and shoved the rest in his mouth, chewing loudly as he opened the door for me with a flourish. I did my best to smile gratefully without showing the disgust on my face and slid into the backseat. Officer S-F-B had decided that it would be a good idea to shove most of our luggage in the front seat, so Grissom and I were forced to climb awkwardly into the backseats along with one of my suitcases that was crammed up against the other door.

"The trunk not working Devlin?" Grissom asked as he clambered in after me.

"What do you mean?"

Grissom closed his eyes in frustration and buckled in. "Never mind."

"It smells funny in here," I noted merrily, thoroughly enjoying Grissom's annoyance.

"Yeah," replied the officer as we pulled out of the lot, "I had a thing of yogurt in here before but the container got stuck under the seat. I've been meaning to clean it for a while, but it's been so hot out."

"Of course," I nodded reassuringly, beaming at Grissom, who looked like he was ready to kill me. "I'll just crack a window."

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Light, alternating red and then dark, filtered through my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes sleepily, the last of the sun flaring out from behind the palm trees and telephone poles that were lining the highway. I didn't even remember falling asleep. It took me a moment to notice that I had passed out on Grissom, my head resting on his shoulder, one arm slung lazily across his chest.

I blinked a few times and lifted my head cautiously, looking at him to gauge his reaction. He was unexpectedly fast asleep, nestled against the door with an arm under his head as a makeshift pillow, the wind from the cracked window rustling his hair. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of him curled up like that, his glasses slipping down his nose.

I reached out and took them off for him, tucking them in one of the zippered pockets on my suitcase. Devlin, humming as he drove, hadn't seemed to notice that I was awake. After a moment's thought I decided that I could use the rest, so, careful so as not to wake him, I resumed my position cuddled up to Grissom and lay my head down. Just before I drifted off again, I could have sworn that I saw Grissom's reflection in the review mirror, a light smile playing across his lips, and then vanishing.

But I probably imagined it.

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What only seemed like moments later I was being lightly shaken awake by Grissom, his face hovering above mine in the cool blue light of the early evening. "Sara? We're here."

I lifted my head groggily and prayed to all that is Holy that there was no drool happening anywhere. "Have you seen my glasses?" he asked, looking around the small car.

"Mm-hmm, here," I reached into my suitcase and pulled them out, handing them to him as I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. "Where's Devlin?"

"He's just talking to the officer on site, they're getting our car ready."

Devlin approached then, calling for us to follow. Grissom unfolded himself from the car and reached for my hand to help me out. My legs were like jelly from sitting for so long, but after a quick stretch I felt pleasantly refreshed. Grissom and I headed to a black SUV that was parked next to the diesel pumps of an abandoned gas station. I heard some commotion behind me and looked over my shoulder to see an FBI agent struggling under the weight of my bags. "Those have wheels!" I called out. The agent, face red from the exertion, hollered back his thanks and dropped my bag to the ground, pulling out the handle.

I turned back to Devlin, who was grinning at me vacantly as he began to explain the directions to the secluded community we would soon become a part of. He handed Grissom the keys and gave me a wink, to which I responded with a weak smile as I climbed into the car. Once our bags were loaded, and after many last minute instructions, we were pulling out of the gas station and back out onto the highway, a blanket of stars spread out on the horizon before us.

The ride was quiet, and comfortable, the soothing sounds of driving at night nearly lulling me to sleep again. I was just about to doze off when we went over a bump and I was suddenly jostled awake. "Sorry," said Grissom softly as he guided the car around a bend, the first lights of civilization coming into view.

"I shouldn't be sleeping anyway, I'll never get to bed tonight if I keep at it," I replied dismissively.

"So you're sleeping again?" he asked inquisitively.

I avoided the question as the neighborhood came into view. "Ugh! Cookie-cutter houses, how awful. You'd think with all the money these people have they'd be able to afford an original design for their houses."

"Conformity is comforting to some people," he responded, his eyes flicking from house to house as he checked the addresses. "You check that side of the street."

"Well not to me," I answered, keeping note of the growing numbers displayed on the houses on my side. "Wait, what number am I looking for?"

"42."

"The answer to life, the universe, and everything?!" I laughed.

He smiled, keeping his eyes trained on the street, "Precisely."

"There it is, "I pointed to a white rancher with wide front windows. "It's right next to the white rancher, and the other white rancher."

"Ha-ha," he said dryly, glancing at me as he pulled into the driveway. "Well, here we are. Home sweet home."

Hearing him say that made the reality of what we were about to do come crashing down on top of me, and for a second all I could do was stare at him in disbelief. Living with Grissom? Though it had been a fantasy of mine for so long, our relationship over the past few years could only be described as rocky, at best. We cared for each other, obviously, but he had never been willing to risk it all like I had. That knowledge had put a certain strain on our friendship for a while, but ever since this assignment had come up it seemed like we were right back to how we used to be, when the two of us had met at his seminar. We were open with each other; we'd stopped holding back, stopped worrying about how what we were going to say would sound, or how a certain gesture would be interpreted. Over the years I had grown tired of the elusive games we'd gotten into the habit of playing, and apparently so had he.

It seemed that all we had needed was an excuse, and being thrown into this wild game of cat-and-mouse was as good an excuse as any. Of course I also wasn't stupid enough to entertain the idea of anything happening between us. I still held a hope for that in a secret place in my heart, and I knew I probably always would, but being forced by the FBI to live with someone isn't what I'd call romantic. But still, if this is what Life was going to hand me, then I would just have to appreciate the time I was being given and leave it at that. And do my job of course. Also important.

I shook my head and forced a smile, ignoring his quizzical expression at my odd reaction to his joke. "I don't know if I could ever call a place like this 'home'," I answered quickly, opening the door to the car.

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," he countered, opening the trunk for our bags.

"Sometimes you don't need to try things to know you're going to hate them," I argued, reaching for my bag and hoisting it onto the ground. I kicked the wheels out and reached for my other bag, but Grissom got to it first.

"And sometimes something can pleasantly surprise you," he commented thoughtfully.

I watched him as he pulled out the handle to my bag and closed the trunk.

"Sometimes," I agreed.

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"You have got to be kidding me."

"What?"

Grissom had come up behind me as I was unpacking my things in the bedroom, and this time it was him with the incredulous look in his face. "This is why your bags were so heavy?" He gestured towards my open suitcase and the mountain of books that were spilling out of it.

"I need them," I answered defensively, pulling some out and putting them on an empty bookshelf.

"You need _all six_ Harry Potter books?" he asked, reaching into the pile and pulling out _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, _flipping it over to read the back.

"Yes," I snapped, grabbing it out of his hand and putting it on the shelf. "When I can't sleep, I read."

"So you're _not_ sleeping," he said, sitting on the bed and going through the library in my bag.

"It's really not a big deal Grissom, I mostly just love to read, that's the main reason I brought the books," I answered, praying he'd drop it.

"Okay," he said, glancing at me with a well-worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice _open to the first page. One thing about Grissom is that he knows when to let something go and when to press it. Good man. "You know, you remind me a bit of Elizabeth Bennet," he began.

"Yeah I can see that," I mused, rifling through my bags to find some of the actual clothes I had brought.

"You can?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure," I shrugged, "Lizzie investigates the murder of Wickham, only to discover he was stabbed to death with a pitchfork by one of her sisters. The DNA from the victim's bloody wounds is the clincher; I can see it all now."

Grissom glared at me, jokingly, "Alright, forget it."

I laughed and tossed my copy of _The Life Cycle of the Fruit Fly_ at him, "Here, that's a little more to your tastes I think."

He read the title, "I gave you this."

"Exactly," I answered, laughing, "now go make us some dinner, 'hubby'."

He smirked and tossed the book back at me, standing to leave, "Chinese or Italian?"

"Oh, surprise me."

"You hate surprises," he countered.

"Only the bad ones," I objected over my shoulder as I pulled out a handful of shirts. He responded by looking at me over his glasses with a "Hmm," and then disappeared. One surprise that I wasn't sure how I felt about was the discovery that there was only one bedroom in the house.

While the dwelling came fully furnished, the only thing the living room had to offer was two hard love seats and a wingback chair, nothing that would be considered ideal for sleeping on. The situation had gone unspoken since we arrived, but I knew that when it came up Grissom would be a gentleman and offer to take the floor. It seemed silly to me that we couldn't just share the bedroom; I mean two full grown adults should be able to realize that sleeping in the same bed has nothing to do with sex.

I put the last of my things away and stashed my suitcases into the empty closet, smoothing my hair in the mirror before heading to the kitchen. Grissom, leaning against the island, looked up as I walked in, "Bad news."

"What?"

"Well, I found a great Indian place nearby with tons of vegetarian options."

I sat down in one of the stools lining the counter. "And that's a problem how?"

"Are you forgetting something?" he asked, sitting down across from me. "Palmer got us to give him our wallets and identifications after the debriefing."

I slapped my hand to my forehead, "Neither of us has any money."

"He said he'll be issuing us credit cards and fake ID's tomorrow, but until then…"

"We go hungry," I groaned, my stomach already rumbling.

"Well, maybe not," Grissom said, standing. "The feds got this house off of a couple who had to leave town in a family emergency, that's why it's fully furnished. If they didn't bother to take their furniture, maybe they left behind something to eat."

He headed for the cupboards and rifled through them for a moment. I watched his back in anticipation. "Anything?"

"It looks like we're in luck!" he said, turning to face me with both hands behind his back. "Pick a hand."

I eyed his hidden fists warily, "Do I have to?"

He scowled playfully, "Just do it."

"Alright, left," I sighed.

"Excellent choice," he stated, nodding. He put forth his hidden hand and placed a can of pickled beets in front of me. My mouth dropped open a little, and I stared at him in disbelief.

"You can't be serious."

"Hey, you got the good hand, I've got lima beans," he responded, placing his own can in front of him.

"Okay, hotshot," I smirked, "How are you going to get the cans open?"

"…Oh."

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I'd refused to eat any of Grissom's 'dinner', and decided to have a shower instead, but by the time I'd gotten changed into some pajamas and combed out my hair, my stomach was ready to eat itself. He'd managed to saw the cans open with the blunt can opener from his Swiss army knife, and he'd mixed the two delicacies together into what he had christened a "limabeet salad." I'd eaten half my can but my gut was already churning, so I decided not to push my luck.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked, emerging from the bedroom in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a white tee-shirt.

"My compliments to the chef," I smiled. I was about to go about the awkward task of bringing up the sleeping arrangements when I noticed the look on Grissom's face. He was staring over the top of my head and through the kitchen window into the backyard, his features frozen, and slightly pale.

I spun around to look out the window and saw nothing, the dark window merely reflecting my own image back at me. I looked back to Grissom in confusion, "Griss, what is it?"

He remained still, speaking softly and hardly moving his mouth at all, "There's someone in the backyard."

"What?!" I hissed, my head flying back to face the window. I thrust my arm out and flipped the switch on the wall, the darkness of the room enveloping us. With the lights off, there was nothing to reflect on the windows, and the small backyard came into view. At first all I could see were the two budding apple trees and the outline of the empty doghouse that made up the yard, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.

A man, tall and lanky, was flitting through the two trees at a run, and heading for the high fence that made up the perimeter.

Without thinking, I jumped out of my chair and threw open the sliding glass door that opened onto the sundeck, running outside. Grissom was hot on my heels, shouting, "Sara!", as I reached the edge of the deck and began to fumble with the gate that opened to the shallow set of stairs leading to the yard.

He ran up behind me and grabbed my hand, yanking me backwards into the middle of the deck. "He's getting away!" I whispered fiercely as I saw the shadow of the man dropping over the edge of the fence.

"Let him!" Grissom hissed back, his grip on my wrist starting to ache. He spun me back around to face him, and even in the dark I could see the fury blazing in his blue eyes. "What the Hell were you thinking?!" he spoke in a furious, hushed tone. I gaped at the fuming Grissom that stood before me, a Grissom I had never seen before. The warm wind whispered in my hair, and the wooden deck was cold on my bare feet.

"I'm sorry," I blinked away startled tears.

He looked over his shoulder at the spot where the intruder had disappeared over the fence, and then put a hand on my back, guiding me inside. He led me into the dark of the bedroom and motioned for me to sit on the bed while he rifled through his bag. "Grissom I –"

"You could have been killed," was all he said as he fished his cellphone out of the front pocket and punched in a number. "You were unarmed and in your pajamas, what did you think you were going to do once you got to him, exactly?" I stared at him as he put the phone to his ear and waited for an answer. The person on the other end picked up and I realized he was calling our contact, the person who we were to relay any and all information to, who would then contact Agent Palmer.

He rattled off the details of what had just happened, and after a brief conversation he flipped his phone shut and sat down on the bed beside me. "They're sending agents to patrol the neighbourhood, we're supposed to wait to hear back in case they need any further details."

"Okay," I agreed quietly, the reality of what I'd done sinking in. "It was a stupid thing to do," I began.

"Yes, it was," he agreed, lying back on the pillow, resting his cellphone on his stomach.

I knew there was nothing I could say to make it okay; what I had done was ignorant, and dangerous, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I had just gotten too excited at the prospect of catching a murderer.

Feeling like a fool, I curled up on the bed beside him, staring over his profile out the window to the starry night sky beyond. "You scared the bejesus out of me," he said to the ceiling, his voice gentle, regretful.

"I know," I answered back.

We both sat there, listening to each other's even breaths, failing the battle to stay awake waiting for a phone call back that would never even come

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_Thanks for reading, hope you liked it! (comments are love!)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: sorry this one took me a little longer, a term paper crossed with a fever of 103.5_

_Worked against me on this one. But at long last, here it is, I hope you like it! Now if_

_You'll excuse me; I have to go blow my nose. (ps, if haven't responded to your _

_Comments, I'm truly sorry, but at the moment I barely had the energy to finish this_

_Chapter, so forgive me, they really are appreciated.)_

_All my love, Solomynne._

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_You can't quit me so quickly._

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I woke to the sound of children's laughter.

I couldn't remember the last time I woke up to something other than the sound of the steady traffic making its way across the strip. I didn't mind that sound; it was comforting, familiar, but the sweet innocence that was filtering through the double paned glass was a different kind of familiar, a simpler kind.

I rolled over on top of the bare mattress I had fallen asleep on; unfolding from the fetal position I had curled up into in the chilly room. My hand bumped into something as I stretched out the kinks in my back, and I yanked it back like it had touched an open flame. I opened my eyes, blinking in the bright morning light streaming in through the blinds, and Grissom's profile came into view. He too was curled into himself against the cold, his arms folded across his chest like a petulant child.

The events of the night before came flooding back to me, and the feelings that had bloomed inside my heart from waking up in bed next to Grissom faded into the back of my mind, replaced by embarrassment.

I, Sara Sidle, had tried to single-handedly take out a serial killer in nothing more than a pair of white cotton pajamas. And what was even better was the fact that I couldn't even be sure that it _was _the guy we were after. In fact, more probably than not it was just someone who was curious about their new neighbors. After all, how could the killer have known we were there so quickly? It just didn't make any sense.

I closed my eyes in frustration and flopped onto my stomach. Maybe if I slept for long enough it would all go away.

"Sara?" _Or not._

I opened my eyes to meet Grissom's cool, steady blue gaze, peering at me thorough the curtain of my hair

"Good morning," he said calmly, sitting up on an elbow.

"Morning," I echoed, sitting up fully, my back resting against the headboard. I folded my knees into my body, wrapping my arms tightly around my legs. As I turned to face him I could feel the sunlight from the blinds slicing my face into alternating bands of light and shadow.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked patiently.

"Yes, actually," I said, surprised at the realization that my insomnia hadn't gotten the better of me. "You?"

"Quite well, thank you," he responded, turning to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. I was, needless to say, confused that the reprimand I had been dreading had been replaced by friendly small talk.

But me being me, completely unable and unwilling to let sleeping dogs lie, I scooted forward to the edge of the bed as he was making his way around and stuck a bare leg out to block his exit. His knee bumped gently into my leg and he stopped abruptly, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow. "That's it?" I questioned, "You're not mad?"

"I said what I needed to say," he said calmly. I nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. We looked at each other for a couple of moments, and then he surprised me beyond words by reaching down and placing a hand on my knee. My heart was hammering against my ribcage in the grey light of the bedroom as his other hand came to rest on my ankle. "What are you…?" I began, lost for words. He gently took my leg and placed it on the floor so he could pass. My heart dropped into my stomach. "Oh."

_Just kill me now._

"Are you hungry?" he asked, looking over his shoulder from the doorway.

"No offense," I said with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear, "but I don't think my stomach can take anymore limabeet salad."

He smirked, "I was thinking we could go out to eat. I saw a place on the way here, 'Judy's Food Joint'."

"Nice, I'll make sure to dress down," I said, standing and heading toward the dresser. He scowled at me jokingly and headed for the bathroom. I heard the door close behind him as I rifled through the drawers looking for something to wear. But what does a girl trying to draw out a serial killer as she eats breakfast at a crappy diner choose? Jeans of course. And a white button up blouse, with a pretty lacy design across the chest. I find lace is ideal for attracting the crazies.

I stripped off my top, and had started looking for a bra that would match when my cell phone began to ring. "Damn," I sighed, glancing towards the bathroom door. It was still closed, and I could hear the water running in the sink. One arm over my breasts I walked to the nightstand and grabbed my cell, flipping it open with my thumb. "Sidle."

"Ms. Sidle," came the familiar, icy drawl of Agent Palmer. "That was an excellent display of your cat-like reflexes last night. The agents assigned to patrol the neighborhood happened to be in the area at the time, they said you were out the door in less than eight seconds. Impressive."

I sighed and sat down on the bed. "Was there something you wanted Agent Palmer, or did you just call to chat?

"I wanted to let you know that after a lengthy chase, my agents lost the intruder." He paused before going on, "While I'm not completely convinced he's our guy, if it was, it shows he's more than ready to find his next victim, to the point that he's casing all the recently sold properties."

"He's getting desperate," I said softly.

"Exactly."

I took at deep breath, "So what do you want us to do?"

"I want the two of you to meet with some of my agents at a diner about ten minutes drive from your present location."

"Judy's Food Joint?" I questioned.

"You know it?" Palmer asked, surprised.

"It's more popular than you'd think," I answered, smiling to myself.

"Well, I want you to meet my guys there as soon as possible. They'll give you further instructions upon your arrival," he said intensely, sounding like he'd just walked off the set of _Mission: Impossible._

"On our way, over and out." I joked. I heard him sigh into the phone before hanging up on me. Oh well. I ran a hand through my hair and stood, scooping my bra off the bed and unfastening the clips.

"Who was that?" came Grissom's voice from the doorway. I froze, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that I was half naked. I gasped and dropped the bra, clamping both hands over my chest.

Grissom immediately turned his back towards me. "Sorry, you were talking to someone so I assumed –"

"No, no," I answered, bending down for my bra. "My fault, I should have closed the door." I fumbled with the clasps in my haste, surprisingly less embarrassed than I had expected to be. Grissom saw women's bodies everyday, why should mine be any different? I grabbed my shirt and slipped it on, hurriedly buttoning it up. "Okay, it's safe," I assured him.

Grissom cautiously turned around and met my eyes, an enigmatic look sparkling in his own. "So who were you talking to?"

"That was Agent Palmer," I said dramatically, "we have a mission."

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I stepped out of the car, blinking in the bright sunshine. Since I started working nights, I wasn't used to spending any extended period of time in daylight, sad but true. As a result my eyes have since become a bit sensitive. I slipped a pair of sunglasses on and followed Grissom into the grungy diner, its 50's theme quite possibly just the remnants of the original decorating scheme, turned retro.

A woman in a well-worn, checkered, frilly apron, who I half expected to be wearing a poodle skirt and roller skates, showed us to our table. I followed the older woman's slow gait across the dingy yellowed carpet, fighting the urge to ask her if she was Judy. She wordlessly pointed to a booth at the end of the aisle, the light from outside filtering lazily through the dust, warming the plastic shrubbery.

"So what are you in the mood for?" asked Grissom, sliding into the red plastic booth across from me.

"I'm not sure, maybe pancakes?" I mused, flipping open the menu. Everything had a special 50's related name, like "Elvis' Egg Salad Supreme". I hate that.

"I think I might be in the mood for a fruit salad," Grissom quipped, tapping the laminated paper.

"You mean the 'frisky fifties fantastic fruit bowl'?" I asked.

"Oh, I hate when they do that," he answered, glaring at the faded menu. He looked up in confusion at my outburst of laughter.

XXXX

I was halfway through my very sub-par pile of limp pancakes, Grissom picking at his wilting "fruit salad" that consisted of a couple of apples and two grapes, when two people, one man and one woman, slid in next to us.

The man, very large and burly, used his body to push me along the bench roughly, practically smashing me into the wall. "Ow! What the Hell!? I protested. The woman, who was blonde and wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, was a little more polite as she motioned for Grissom to move aside so she could sit down.

"Now was that really necessary?" demanded Grissom of the large brute who was sliding my cold pancakes along the table, leaving them to rest directly in front of me.

"Probably not," he answered casually.

I glared at the guy's profile, using every last bit of willpower I possessed to force myself not to stab him with the fork I was clenching in my fist.

"Are you okay?" asked Grissom, placing his hand gently on mine, making me release the fork.

"I'm fine," I nodded, wanting him to keep his hand on mine, and knowing he wouldn't.

"So," he began, pushing aside his breakfast, "I'm guessing you're the agents we're meeting with?"

"Well what if we weren't?" asked the big, surly one. "Then you would have completely blown your own cover."

The woman interjected, cutting off any chance of her partner offending us once again, "We're Special Agents Cavanaugh, and Daniels," she said, gesturing towards her partner. "We've been sent to debrief you on today's assignment."

"Which is?" I asked curtly.

She removed her sunglasses and looked at me, her muddy brown eyes sizing me up, "We're going to be setting you up with ear pieces and sending you to the local grocery store. We figure it's a probable place to start, it seems like a good hunting ground for a killer to scope out his victims."

"Yeah, we've been down this road before," I answered, remembering the last time I did undercover work for the Strip Strangler case.

"Why the earpieces?" Grissom asked.

"Agent Palmer and I will be in a van in the parking lot watching you through security cameras. We're going to be instructing you on where we want you to go, if we want you to talk to anyone, etc," she answered.

"Any questions?" asked Daniels.

I looked up at him, pushing my pancakes aside, "Let's get started."

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"_Would somebody get the lights_?"

All four of us were crammed, in the dark, into the one bathroom they had at Judy's Food Joint. I groped my hand along the grimy tiled wall and flipped the light switch, enveloping the room in yellow, dirty light from the single, bare light bulb that dangled above our heads.

The feds had had the brilliant idea to fit us with ear pieces and microphones in the bathroom so as not to arouse suspicion. When I asked whether it wouldn't arouse more suspicion for four adults to go into a one-person bathroom all at once, the only answer I got was a frigid glare from agent Cavanaugh. I was starting to get the feeling she didn't like me. Call me crazy.

Grissom and I stood back to back, pressed tightly against each other as the two agents began attaching the surveillance equipment. "Hey! Watch the hands," I warned, as Agent Daniels ran his mitts across my breasts.

"Take it easy, I've got to find a spot to attach the wires to," he countered.

"Mm-hmm," I answered, not entirely convinced.

"Alright, I'm going to need you to remove your shirt, ma'am."

"You're joking, right?'

Agent Cavanaugh chimed in, "Not at all Ms. Sidle, we're going to need to tape these wires to your torso. You too Mr. Grissom."

"Son of a bitch," I muttered to myself as I began unbuttoning my blouse, echoing Grissom's sigh I heard from behind me. "I do not get paid enough," I grumbled, removing my shirt.

"Okay, arms out," ordered Daniels, ignoring my comment. I rolled my eyes and spread my arms out, feeling Grissom's bare back pressed up against my own. Daniels hooked a battery pack to my hip and ran a wire up the midline of my body, taping it along the way. "Turn," he barked.

I had decided it would be in my best interests to just lighten up about the situation, but as the two of us turned to face each other, the bare skin of our stomachs touching, I couldn't help but feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I kept my eyes cast downwards as I felt Daniels running the line for the mic down my back. I'm not quite as tall as Grissom, but I'm tall enough that we would have practically been kissing had I tried to look at him. As romantic as that would be, in the filthy bathroom at Judy's Food Joint, it wasn't the ideal situation for me.

"Alright," said Daniels at long last, "You're set."

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"Laura Griffin?" I asked, incredulous.

"What's wrong with that?" Daniels handed me my new ID and credit cards in the name they had chosen at random.

"Nothing," I answered quietly.

"Okay you two," started Cavanaugh, "head over now and Agent Palmers and I will be in radio contact within half an hour."

Grissom and I nodded, walking stiffly across the parking lot as we got used to the wires entwining our bodies. "Who are you?" Grissom asked casually.

I handed him my fake driver's license silently. He took it and read it over. "Oh. Your mother's name."

"Yeah," I answered, "fantastic, isn't it?"

"Well at least you're not Herbie."

I exploded with laughter, "Herbie?!"

Grissom's face clouded over, "I know."

I laced my arm through his as we neared the car, suddenly quite cheerful, "Well alright, Herbie, I'm driving."

XX

Grissom and I entered the local PriceSmart with an empty cart, the generic smells and sounds of a grocery store enveloping us.

"_Alright," _buzzed Palmer's voice in my ear, "_just do your own thing for now, we'll let you know when we want you to do anything for us."_

I shook my head to get his crackling voice out of my skull, "That's going to get annoying," I commented dryly. Grissom nodded in agreement.

"_We can hear you, Sidle," _chimed Cavanaugh.

"I know," I smiled.

Grissom turned to me as he pushed the cart, "Why don't we just start in the first aisle and work our way down?" he suggested. I nodded, leading the way.

Nine aisles, and forty-five minutes later, nothing had happened, and I was getting bored. I was reaching out to check the ingredients on a box of crackers when Palmer tinned in my ear, "_Sidle, we have someone on your case."_

"What?" I asked, astounded.

"_Grissom, get lost, give her some space," _he commanded.

"Can't I just –"

"_Now!" _he barked.

Grissom spun on his heel, casting me a warning look over his shoulder. I gave him a reassuring smile, and then turned back to the cracker box, completely immersed.

"Excuse me," came a deep, innocent voice from directly behind me.

I turned slowly, and met eyes with a tall, Caucasian male, in his mid to late thirties. His hair was chestnut brown, with eyes to match, though they were warm, and inviting. He was well dressed, in jeans and a red sweater, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses that gave him an intellectual edge. "Yes?" I asked.

"Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if you had ever tried this before?" he held up a package of beef jerky, "Texas Pete's."

Heart thumping, I did my best not to stammer as I replied, ""No, actually. I'm a vegetarian."

"Ah," he said, raising his hands in mock-defeat, "all the pretty girls are, it seems."

I smiled and looked away, hearing Cavanaugh in my ear, _"Go with it Sidle, don't lose him." _

I shrugged, "Sorry I couldn't be more help. If you have any questions about tofu, though, I'm your girl". He laughed, a little too loudly some might say, and tapped the back of my hand playfully.

"What's your name?"

I paused for a moment, the word catching in my throat, sticking, hardening. _"Come on Sidle!"_

"Laura, my name is Laura," I forced through my teeth, exhaling deeply.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Matt," he shook my hand, holding onto it for a beat longer than was necessary.

"Nice to meet you," I answered. _"Make yourself seem vulnerable, ask him to put something back on the shelf for you!" _my earpiece commanded. I was losing track of who was who, both their voices growing more and more distant as my heart beat faster and faster.

"Well, Matt," I said, as calmly as I could, "would you mind putting these crackers back on the shelf for me? I can't quite reach."

"Of course," he said, dutifully taking the box and leaning to the top shelf. He stupidly put a hand on the cart for support, sending it flying down the aisle. As it shot out from under him, he lost his balance and fell right on top of me, knocking me down, my head cracking against the ground with a _thwack._

Everything went blissfully dark for a minute or two, and when I came to, I could hear Grissom shouting my name over the non-stop apologies of my accidental attacker.

"Sara? Sweetie can you hear me? Sara, honey, you have to wake up now, okay?"

I opened my eyes lazily, vision swimming. "Grissom?"

"That's it honey, keep talking," he said, threading his arm under my back and hoisting me into a sitting position. "Are you okay to stand?"

"I think so," I answered dreamily, letting him grab hold of my waist as he pulled me to my feet. "Come on sweetheart, we're going to the hospital, okay?"

Matt's concerned face came into focus as he handed my purse to Grissom, "Listen Laura, or Sara, or whoever you are, I'm really, really, sorry. Here, take my card in case you have any serious injuries your insurance won't cover."

"Sara's her middle name," Grissom explained as he took the card, "it's a pet name, of sorts."

"Okay, well, my apologies again," he stuttered, backing into a display of cereal, making me giggle.

Grissom hauled me out of the grocery store and into the parking lot, where the van was waiting.

"Well done, Sidle," said Palmer from the back seat, "We've been looking over the tape and we can't tell if the fall was intentional or not, but you got a card, that's a start."

"Yeah," growled Grissom, readjusting my weight in his arms, "and all it cost was a concussion." I smiled to myself and put my other arm around Grissom's neck.

"We'll send a paramedic to your place to check on her," dismissed Palmer

"Don't bother," he snapped, slamming the door shut in their faces.

"_Well we'll send some groceries along in a few hours," _Cavanaugh chirruped into the earpieces.

Grissom ripped the battery pack off his waist and reached down, plucking mine off as well. "How are you doing?" he asked, his voice softening, concerned.

"Herbie," I sighed, my head throbbing, "take me home."

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_Aaaaand that's all she wrote. For now. Thanks so much for reading! Promises of GSR in the next chapter. I'm working it in bit by bit, but I assure you that it's coming. Comments are love darlings._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: hello darlings! Wow. I did not expect such a reaction from something as simple as picking the name Herbie. As I mentioned to a few people, I chose the name simply because it was so ridiculous and un-Grissom. Hence the humor? Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I didn't receive any reviews until a few days ago. Needless to say I was a little saddened, thinking that no one liked my chapter, but then suddenly they all came at once and my spirits were lifted. So that's why I haven't been able to respond to all of them, but they're soooo appreciated! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, you don't know how much it means. And I feel you should all know that I put off doing my research paper for English 1127 and I'm blaming you. Don't be mad._

_-Solomynne_

_Disclaimer: although it would be nice to own Jorja Fox, I'll have to make do without. Not mine._

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_To know the heart, ask the face._

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"Ow, Jesus, would you stop?"

"I can't, Sara, I haven't got it all yet."

Grissom put his hand on my neck and gently maneuvered my head back under the faucet of the bathroom sink. As soon as we'd gotten home he had insisted on cleaning my head wound, gently working the small bit of dried blood out of my hair. It was by no means a serious injury, but if not cleaned properly even the smallest cuts can get infected. I groaned as he nudged my head further into the sink, gripping the counter, the muscles in my back and neck aching.

"Just hold still," he said gently, "I'm almost done. And no squirming." I smiled at the drain and closed my eyes, letting the hot water soothe my aches. Grissom's strong fingers slowly massaged my head; one hand on my back for balance, and suddenly the groan that escaped my lips was not of pain but rather of pleasure. I couldn't remember the last time someone had given me any form of a massage, and if this was as close as I was going to get, I could die a happy woman.

"Alright," he gave my back a light tap, "all clean."

"Whew," I sighed, unfolding myself from the awkward position, "thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied casually, handing me a towel. I took it and scrubbed my wet hair viciously, raking right over my freshly cleaned gash. I yelped, dropping the towel like it was on fire, one hand clamping down on my cut instinctually. "Shit!" I scowled at the towel, "well that wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done," I groaned, cringing at the searing pain. My head had cleared up a bit on the car ride home, or so I thought, but apparently I wasn't quite back to normal.

"I would have to agree with you there," said Grissom with an amused look on his face. "If you've made it bleed again…" I glared at him and he had the good sense to hold his tongue.

"I'm concussed, I'm not exactly running at peak efficiency here," I defended myself.

"_Frailty, thy name is woman,"_ he sighed, motioning for me to sit on the counter.

I hopped up and handed him the towel, "Hamlet."

He raised an eyebrow, the light from the setting sun choosing that moment to peek in through the windowsill, making our faces glow. "Impressed?" I asked playfully. He looked at me over his glasses and grunted. I smiled, closing my eyes against the brilliant sunlight reflecting off the marble counter I sat on as he delicately dried my hair with the towel, taking care not to upset the cut.

It occurred to me then how odd it was that it _hadn't_ occurred to me just how easily we'd fallen into the roles of long-time lovers. At first, it had started as a game, a rather painful game for myself, considering my attempts with Grissom before, but a game nonetheless.

Now, with Grissom tenderly wiping the beads of water off my neck, it was hard to believe it was all pretend.

I opened my eyes languidly as he continued, relishing being touched, and cared for. He glanced down at me, taking hold of my chin to maneuver my head the other way; but as our eyes met something… changed. He put the towel down on the counter, slowly, without breaking eye contact. The air in the room immediately became thick with anticipation, my breath hitching, every polished porcelain surface aflame with the sunset's glow. The hand on my chin slid carefully to my cheek, cupping my face. My heart began to quicken its pace, the blood awakening in my veins at the knowledge that for once, it wasn't just me that was doing the wanting. The feeling of his touch felt strangely familiar, like the body remembering an old lover. It felt like that was the way it had always been; was meant to be.

He stroked his thumb sweetly across my cheek, my eyes closing in pleasure like a cat's. I reached up and put my hand on his, running my thumb across the back of his hand. I went to reach out to him, to pull him to me, when a knock at the door made both of our heads snap in the direction of the front entrance. Neither of us moved for a moment, hoping beyond all reason that it had just been our imaginations. The knock rang out again, sharper this time, impatient. We looked back at each other slowly, the moment lost. "I'll get it," he sighed.

I nodded and looked away, tucking my hair behind my ear. With Grissom's back turned, I pulled my legs up onto the counter and leaned against the mirror, resting my chin on my knees. Halfway down the hallway, he wasn't there to witness the warm, secret tears I could feel pricking at my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my brown eyes brimming as my heart was broken once again by the man I just couldn't stay away from.

I was so angry with myself for letting it happen; something I had sworn to myself I would never do. I had let him in, and for one single, precious moment, he had been mine. But now, being Grissom, he would just pretend that nothing had happened and leave me to pick up the pieces, I knew he would. After all, why would this time be any different? I sighed at my reflection, wiping the tears away with my palm. My expression became determined, my jaw set as I came to the decision that I wouldn't let it get to me. If he could be casual about this, then so could I.

Probably.

I hoped.

I gave myself a final once over in the mirror to make sure there were no traces of tears, and then slid gracefully off the counter to see who had been at the door. I entered the kitchen to see Grissom – or rather the bottom half of him – sticking out from inside the refrigerator, surrounded by a sea of grocery bags.

"Need any help?" I offered from behind him. The sudden clinking of glass made it obvious that I'd scared him and he'd hit his head on the shelf, but I swallowed my laughter with some effort. He extracted himself, sitting back on his haunches to look up at me towering over him with my arms crossed.

"That would be nice," he smiled, "Would you hand me the cold things?"

"Sure," I answered, passing him a carton of strawberries. He reached out for it but I made no offer to give it to him. "Did you hit your head when I came in?" I asked, my mouth curling into the tiniest hint of a smile.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, trying to look aloof.

"You have mustard in your eyebrow," I commented nonchalantly, handing him the strawberries. I bent down to rifle through the rest of the bags, leaving him to wipe the mustard off his face with his sleeve.

"I _thought _that bottle was leaking," he swore, reaching into the fridge and grabbing the eyebrow-staining culprit. He placed it in the sink and went back to the groceries. "The kid who dropped off the bags was throwing them around like he was in the WWE."

"You watch wrestling?" I asked, my head emerging from behind the island.

"I don't _watch _it, Sara, I _study _it," he said defensively, resuming his place at the fridge while I handed him a bag of cold produce.

"Ah, my mistake," I smiled. All memories of my bitter tears forgotten, I was already letting myself get lost in the fantasy of "us".

We were halfway through the groceries when there was another knock at the door, loud and insistent. I stood, "I'll get it. Maybe it's that kid from the PriceSmart here to finish off the rest of the condiments," I joked as I walked down the hall. Any mirth in my expression was wiped off my face and replaced with surprise as I opened the door to see Matt from the grocery store standing on the porch with fresh cut flowers in his hand.

"Matt?" I asked slowly, suddenly very scared at the realization that he had found out where I lived. "What are you doing here?"

He had changed into faded jeans and an olive green t-shirt, his hair looking a little more tousled and rugged. "Laura!" he exclaimed, "I'm so glad you're feeling better! I just wanted to see how you were, and apologize again for being such an idiot." He took a step towards me as if to come inside, and I moved outwards, closing the door further behind me, blocking his entrance.

His cheerful expression dimmed a bit, but he handed me the flowers and I took them awkwardly, not knowing what to say, except, "Thank you, these are beautiful." I paused, "But…how did you know where I lived?"

"Oh! Right!" he exclaimed, hitting himself on the forehead with the heel of his palm. "You must have dropped this when you fell today," he said, handing me my wallet, which I hadn't even noticed was missing. Some CSI.

"That's so strange," I laughed, taking it, "I don't know how it could have fallen out of my purse; I could have sworn it was zipped."

He shrugged the question off, taking a step closer as I had my back turned to put the flowers and wallet on the table inside the hall. I turned back and he was practically standing on the threshold of the front door. I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me this time, hoping he would get the hint that he was not going to be invited inside.

"So listen, Laura," he began nervously, "I wanted to ask you something."

My heart already feeling sick at having to respond to the name Laura, it dropped even further into my stomach as his last words resounded in my head, all the alarm bells going off. I had been asked out enough times to know when someone was trying to do it, albeit badly. He shifted from foot to foot, stumbling over his words, "I think you're really beautiful and funny, and I feel a connection with you. I want to ask you to go on a date with me."

My mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but still nothing would come out. Finally I managed to form the words, "I-I can't, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but us dating just isn't a possibility okay?"

He closed his eyes in disappointment, and keeping in mind that he was currently the FBI's number one suspect for the serial rape and murder of several women, I wanted to be as nice about everything as I could, lest I become the next person to end up in a dumpster. "It's not you, really, you're a great guy, it's just that…"

"That what?" he pressed, clearly having gotten his hopes up again.

"She's married," came a stern voice from behind me.

I whipped around to see Grissom standing behind me in the doorway, arms folded, eyes on Matt.

Matt seemed very unmoved at the knowledge of me being married, stating, "Oh? I didn't see any wedding ring." He kept his eyes tight on Grissom's, neither one of them blinking.

_Wedding rings!_ I kicked myself, _How could the feds have forgotten those??_

And then I remembered that they hadn't. Cavanaugh had handed me a small drawstring bag with two simple, silver wedding bands in it. It had completely slipped my mind because at the time I had been getting over the shock of finding out that I was going to have to parade around with my mother's name for God knew how long.

My mind racing for some kind of an explanation, I heard Grissom's calm voice from behind me, "They're out getting engraved. It's our ten year anniversary next week. Isn't that right Laura?" he said, turning to me and holding out his hand.

All I wanted to do was vomit. Having anyone else call my by that name was bad enough, but when Grissom said it out loud it was like some horrible, perverted nightmare come true. I felt bile rising in my throat, but I swallowed hard and forced a smile through clenched teeth, stepping up to take Grissom's hand.

"Yes, of course, that's right," I echoed.

Matt's eyes had become cold, "Oh, I see," he answered, his voice gaining a supple, predatory softness to it, "Well Laura, it was nice meeting you, and I apologize again for any trouble I may have caused. I do hope we meet again someday," he finished, his words dripping with some strange foreshadowing as he backed down the driveway before turning on his heel.

Grissom's hand released mine and slid up to my forearm, pulling me inside. Once we were in he shut the door, turning to face me. "What the Hell was that?"

I frowned, "I don't know, but I didn't like how quickly he changed once he realized things weren't going his way. We have to call Palmer."

Grissom nodded absently, "I especially didn't like the way he looks at you."

I smiled, "You're jealous, aren't you?"

He rolled his eyes, walking back to the kitchen, "Hardly."

I laughed and grabbed the bouquet of flowers off the table, "And I think he might have taken my wallet, so he could use it as an excuse to come here."

"You're sure you didn't just drop it?" he asked over his shoulder, putting away some cereal, "We all know how clumsy you can be."

I put a hand on my hips, "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

He turned; ready to say something biting, I'm sure, when his eyes fell on the flowers in my hand. He frowned, "What are you doing?"

I blinked at him, "What do you mean?"

"What are you doing with those flowers?"

I stared at him in confusion. "I'm….putting them in water?"

"Why?" he asked, taking a step towards me.

I started to laugh in my bewilderment, "Grissom what is the big deal? I'm putting the flowers in water. Is this some new sort of crime I'm unaware of?"

He went to put the last few things away, "I just thought it was a little strange, considering who you got them from."

I took one of the few mismatching cups left in the cupboard and placed it in the sink, turning on the tap. "Well just because I got them from some freak-o doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to enjoy them."

"Fair enough," he said quietly, but I could tell he didn't really agree. Maybe he really was jealous. I shrugged it off and put the vase on the table, admiring the modest, but pretty bouquet. "Are you hungry?" he asked from behind me.

I turned around, "No, not really, are you?"

He closed the cupboard, "Why don't we go for an evening stroll, we can work up an appetite and case the neighborhood at the same time."

"Alright, but we have to call someone about Matt first."

Grissom nodded and reached for his cellphone, punching in the numbers for the dispatch agent. I walked back down the hall and grabbed our jackets and keys, unlocking the front door as I heard Grissom say goodbye to the agent. I handed him his jacket as he approached, asking, "What did they say?"

"They're going to track him down and tail him. I think they're really starting to believe they have their man," he closed the front door and we walked down the driveway, turning in the opposite direction that Matt had.

"You don't think so?" I asked, taking a deep breath of the sweet, cool evening air. He shook his head. "Why not?" I pestered.

"A hunch," was his simple answer.

"It does seem a little too easy," I answered. "I mean, the first stake, on the first day of our 'mission' or whatever, the first guy that comes up to us…"

Grissom stopped me, "Ah, I forgot my wallet."

I looked at him quizzically, "What do you need your wallet for? We're only going for a walk."

He raised a finger, "Always be prepared, Sara." I rolled my eyes as we headed back. "Let's go through the back alley, it's faster," he suggested. We turned down the alley and opened up the back gate, walking across the yard and onto the deck. He slid open the glass door and frowned at the table. "Where did I leave it? I thought it was here…" he wandered off into the house and I went to check around for myself.

I walked into the bedroom, the still, quiet air a change from the freshness of outside. I looked around for Grissom's wallet on the dresser, and then turned to check the night table as Grissom walked in, asking, "Find it?"

"No," I said, sitting on the bed. "Look, let's just go for a walk and we'll look when we-"

I stopped mid-sentence, cocking my ear to the hall. "Grissom," I hissed, "was that the front door?"

We listened, and sure enough, the distinct sound of the front door closing echoed through the silent house. My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as I felt all the blood draining from my face. Someone was in the house. Grissom quickly stepped inside the room and closed the door softly behind him, turning to me with a determined look on his face.

"Grissom!" I hissed, "What do we do? Our guns are in the living room!" The feds had warned us against carrying our firearms with us when we went out as it was too much of a risk, someone could have seen them and blown our cover. We had decided to store our weapons in a moveable compartment underneath the window seat in the front room, reasoning that (since we still hadn't worked out the sleeping arrangements) at least one of us would most likely be sleeping within reaching distance if they proved necessary.

Grissom's eyes scanned the windows, but I had already sized them up, the large one only opened part way, and the smaller two flanking it were way too tiny for either of us to fit through. We were sitting ducks, and at any moment, whoever had just broken into our house was going to come waltzing in.

Grissom grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bed, whispering "Come on," He pulled me into the closet with him and shut the door as quietly as he could. The world went dark for a moment as my eyes adjusted, the dim lighting from the slats in the door slowly bringing everything into focus.

"The closet?" I whispered, panicking, "It's such an obvious spot; he's bound to look in here! I say we stand on either side of the door and jump him when he comes in, two against one, right?"

Grissom shook his head quickly in the dark, "We're unarmed, Sara, there's too many variables. If he has a knife, or a gun, one of us could be killed. We don't know how big this guy is, he may not even need a weapon."

"Well Matt's not very big, I say we can take him!" I hissed back.

"What makes you think it's Matt?" he whispered harshly.

"He was just here, for starters, he probably saw us leave and came back to poke around," I retorted.

"For what purpose?" he asked, both our eyes glued on the door, "to take back his flowers?"

"I don't know," I said as viciously as I could in hushed tones, "Maybe he--"

Grissom cut me off with a "SHH!" as he reached around me and clamped a hand over my mouth, drawing me against his body with the other arm. I put my hand on his in sheer terror as the door to the bedroom slowly opened. I could feel Grissom's heart pounding against my back, as my own was doing flip-flops in my chest cavity. The intruder put a foot inside the door and entered, walking inside. I couldn't make out the face, because he had a baseball cap on, drawn low over his features, but whoever he was, he was tall, and lanky. I found myself trying to remember Matt's body type but I couldn't, my mind was blank with fear.

The man, because it was clearly a male, made his way slowly around the room, picking things up, inspecting them carefully, and then placing them back perfectly into position. It was clear he knew how to go through someone's things without leaving a trace.

After he'd been once around the room, he started heading towards the closet. My blood turned to ice as he drew closer, and it took everything I had not to scream. I could feel Grissom's grip tightening on me, and I pushed his hand off of my mouth and turned into him, burying my face in his neck. I couldn't bear to watch.

But after a moment, I felt Grissom releasing me from his vice-like grip, turning me to face the room. The intruder had not gone to the closet after all, but instead to the dresser. He had opened up the top drawer, and was slowly and meticulously going through my underwear.

My jaw dropped and for half a second I was this close to walking out into the bedroom, slapping the guy across the face, and screaming, "How dare you!?" Luckily I thought better of it. Grissom and I watched from the closet as he pulled out my favorite pair: black lace bikini-cut, with two little black bows that rested on each of my hip bones. He held them up for a moment, as if he were deciding something, and then with a nod, stuffed them into his pocket. He turned to leave, closing the drawer just so, but stopped as he got to the door. He turned back slowly, what I could see of his face looking towards the closet. I drew in a short, tight breath, feeling Grissom's hand coming back over my mouth in case I tried to scream. The man took a couple of steps towards the closet, but he faltered, unsure. Maybe he was worried we were going to be back soon, I still don't know. Suddenly, a loud crash from the kitchen made the decision for him, and he turned on his heel and ran like the wind.

We heard the front door slam behind him as he tore out of the house like a bat out of Hell. I let out a huge sigh of relief, sinking to the floor as Grissom took his hand from my mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked, feeling my body shaking beneath his hands.

I nodded slowly, feeling like I was about to break into a million pieces. "I'm fine, just wishing he'd taken your underwear and not mine." He saw right through my attempt at humor.

"Come on," he said, reaching out a hand, "let's have a glass of water." He pulled me to my feet, locking the front door securely as we passed on our way to the kitchen. "He doesn't appear to have taken anything else," he commented, looking around.

"No, just my _underwear,_" I shuddered.

"Probably to masturbate to while he fantasizes," Grissom added absent-mindedly. I cringed, but he didn't notice. "Well, now we know what scared him," he said, pointing as we entered the kitchen. The cup of flowers I had put on the table had been too top-heavy, and they'd tumbled over.

"And you didn't want me to keep them," I said quietly, giving him a weak smile as I sank into a seat at the table.

He looked at me for a moment, studying my face, and then came and sat down next to me. "Sara, I want you to know that whatever your answer is, I'm on your side, and I won't let anything happen to you. But I need to ask you; do you still want to do this?" He looked at me intently, waiting for a response. Outside, beyond the glass door, children were being called in for supper, their jubilant shrieks of protest slicing through the silence.

I thought carefully about my answer for a moment, my mind filtering through the events of the day. I considered his offer carefully. After a while I looked him square in the eye, and answered, "Yes. I still want to do this. It would certainly be easier at this point to just walk away, but that's not what I'm going to do." I looked out the window. "Let him take all the underwear he needs to, we're going to take him down long before he ever gets the chance to live out one of his fantasies again."

Grissom smiled gently, putting a hand on mine. "I'm proud of you, Sara. You never were one for giving up on something."

"No," I answered, looking him in the eye as I sandwiched his hand between my own. "I never was."

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_Eep! I hope you liked it! I'm a little nervous about this one, but comments are welcome of course! (dooo iiiiit.)_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello darlings! This chapter is a long one, but hopefully enjoyable. Thanks to everyone who's reading, and an extra thanks for everyone who took the time to comment, it means a lot. I LOVE YOU GUYS! Even though you're making me fail biology. But hey, I'm sure nurses don't need to know ALL the partst of human anatomy, right? Enjoy guys._

_Sol_

_Disclaimer: Jorja, will you be mine?_

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_I'm sick; you're tired, let's dance._

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"Why do you think the alphabet is in the order that it is?"

"What's the relevance to your question?"

I sighed and shook my head. "It's not relevant to anything, I was just wondering." I had been on hold with the agents for nearly twenty minutes, and my mind had started to wander, much to Grissom's apparent irritation. I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching out the window as night descended, and listening to the sounds of Grissom at the island making dinner.

In the face of the horror we had experienced earlier that evening, and the hour we'd spent working the room for any kind of evidence (we found none, no surprise there) we'd both needed something as routine as preparing supper to take our mind off of things. A gentle evening breeze outside blew the neighbors' wind chimes softly, comforting my unsettled mind. Cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, I leaned back in the kitchen chair and ran a hand through my hair, turning to watch Grissom as he chopped vegetables diligently.

It occurred to me that all the precision and efficiency with which Grissom worked a case easily translated to every other aspect of his life as well. As I watched in amusement, he carefully chopped the carrots on the cutting board into perfectly identical one-quarter inch slices, and placed them aside.

"I wonder how police got the nickname 'the fuzz'," I mused as the hold tone beeped in my ear.

"I wonder how your brain is capable of coming up with seemly unrelated, irrelevant questions so quickly," he responded absently, painstakingly peeling and inspecting every leaf of lettuce before placing it in the salad bowl.

"You want a relevant question?" I asked, sitting up. "Okay. If the feds are supposed to be watching our backs, why is it that whenever there's even the slightest hint of danger lurking, they're nowhere to be found?"

"Now _that_," he answered, looking up at me as he quartered a tomato, "is a good question." He suddenly sucked in his breath, his paring knife clattering onto the cutting board.

I stood quickly, my chair screeching on the linoleum, "Griss, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he answered, holding up a bloodied finger, "just a cut."

"Here," I responded, coming up to the counter, "you should clean that." I put the cordless phone onto speakerphone and placed it on the counter, walking around the island to stand next to him. I took his hand in mine and inspected the cut, turning it slowly. "It's not too deep," I assured him, glancing up at him watching me.

The cool blue light of evening had washed over the kitchen, softening everything quietly as the first few twinkling stars glittered down at us. I wordlessly ran his hand under warm water, reaching past him for the dish soap next to the sink. My body brushed against his as I grabbed the bottle and poured a little onto his cut, working it in to disinfect.

In our proximity I could feel the heat of his body against mine, warm and inviting. I fought the urge to stop what I was doing and wrap my arms around him as tightly as I could, burying my face in the soft skin of his neck. Shaking my head, I attempted to clear my mind as I finished washing his hand and shut off the water, taking a dishtowel and wrapping his finger in it tightly to stop the bleeding.

"There," I said quietly, the ethereal moonlight bathing our faces, "now we're even." He looked up at me in surprise, opening his mouth to say something, but never getting the chance.

"_Hello?" _ A disembodied voice cut through the silence like a cold slap to the face. I jumped, for a moment thinking that someone had broken into the house again, and then remembering that I had been on hold with the feds. I let out a relieved breath and then scooped up the cordless phone, taking it off of speakerphone.

"Agent Palmer," I answered, leaning against the counter, "you're a hard man to get a hold of."

"This had better be good Sidle," was the curt response, "we're busy over here."

"See, I find that hard to believe," I laughed mirthlessly, "because if any of you were doing your jobs Grissom and I wouldn't have nearly been killed tonight."

"What are you talking about?" he spat across the line, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

"I'm talking about someone breaking into the house," I spat back, "I'm talking about Grissom and I having to lock ourselves in the closet so we wouldn't be chopped to bits," my voice rose, "I'm talking about watching as some sick fuck rifled through my underwear drawer taking souvenirs!" There was silence on the other end, and that only fueled my mounting fury. When still there came no reply I took that as my cue to continue on with my rant, stepping aside so Grissom couldn't take the phone away from me.

"I don't know what the Hell you guys have been doing other than standing around picking your noses, because unless I'm mistaken you are supposed to be protecting Grissom and I, and so far, you're doing a really shitty job of it."

"Our _job_, Ms. Sidle, is to find the Trash Can killer and bring him to justice, not to baby-sit you and your associate."

"You promised that neither of us would be any danger," I snarled, my anger building with every word "and in only two days I've been knocked unconscious, threatened, and stolen from! If you're going to catch this guy, you had better be paying closer attention, because it seems to me that he is certainly paying a lot of attention to us. He knew we were here the first night we moved in, and I think he's been watching us ever since. You knew he'd pick me, because I fit the profile, so my question for you is, did you know he would be this aggressive?"

Again there was no answer. It was clear that the Trash Can Man was getting braver in his desperation to kill. It was also clear that the feds still didn't know what the Hell to do about it. "Look," I spoke harshly, "I want 24 hour protection, or I'm walking right now. This little 'mission' isn't worth my life."

There was a wary sigh over the line, and then a "Fine. I'll send some agents to watch the house."

"Good," I growled. "And Palmer? I suggest you start doing your homework on this guy, or you're going to find yourself somewhere you don't want to be: with another dead woman on your hands. But I'll be damned if that woman is going to be me."

With that I hung up the phone and tossed it on the loveseat, flopping into the nearest chair at the table and resting my head in my hands. I waited for my breathing to go back to normal, taking shallow breaths as my rage-induced adrenaline boost faded. I heard Grissom walk up behind me, and I braced myself for a lecture. But instead of a stinging comment I felt his hand rest gently on my shoulder. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to, his reassuring touch said it all: he had my back on this one.

I turned to smile up at him weakly and put my hand on his, sighing, "Come on, let's finish dinner." He helped me to my feet, handing me a knife to start dicing the celery. After a moment I turned to him, smiling innocently, and asked ""Why do you think the king of hearts is the only one without a moustache?"

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I awoke in darkness.

I blinked, allowing my eyes to adjust, and moved my book from where it had fallen, open, on my chest. Grissom and I had decided to relax after dinner, curling up on the loveseat with some books selected from my collection, and we must have fallen asleep. I looked across the couch and sure enough, he lay dozing, still holding his book as his glasses slipped down his nose.

I chuckled softly in the dark, reaching over and putting "Mansfield Park" on the coffee table. Outside I could hear the wind squealing through the power lines, the rain beating nastily on the windows. It was slightly frightening to be the only one awake, the dark corners of the living room taking on a sinister edge, while outside the violent storm was whipping around the house in a frenzy. I wanted very much to wake up Grissom so he could keep me company, but decided against it, feeling silly. I glanced at him, the only light in the room coming from the eerie green glow of his digital watch, casting his face into a haunting shadow.

I shivered, deciding right then that I didn't care how silly or childish I looked, I wasn't going to be alone for another second. I leaned forward on my knees and placed a hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle shake. "Grissom?" I whispered. I didn't know why, but it felt like speaking in anything above a gentle hush would be risking awakening something; a dormant, but dangerous force that slept quietly in the corners of my mind. Noting his arm was strangely cold; I gave him another shake, more vigorous this time, and said a little louder, "Grissom! Wake up!"

This elicited no response, and I began to become worried. I quickly crawled forward a few inches on my knees so I was sitting right next to him, shaking his whole body with my hands, my heart slamming wildly against my ribcage.

I was panicking now as Grissom's head lolled grotesquely to the side, hot tears sliding down my cheeks. "Grissom," I whimpered, "please…"

"_He won't wake up,"_ a voice rang through the darkness. My heart jumped into my throat, but before I could whip my head around to face the monster, I felt the Trash Can Man's large, gloved hand clamp down on my mouth, stifling my screams.

My hands flew to his, trying to wrench myself free, to call out to the agents that were supposed to be outside, but once I felt the thick, sinewy wrists of my attacker, I knew there wasn't much chance of breaking free. That certainly didn't stop me from trying though, thrashing against him with every ounce of strength I possessed as he tried to wrap his other arm around my waist and drag me off the couch. I kicked at Grissom, praying to God he would somehow wake up and save me, and then I remembered the killer's words, "_He won't wake up."_

A wave of fury like nothing I had ever known came over me at the knowledge that this disgusting fuck may have killed the only man I had ever really loved. I threw my free arm back at him with all the force and momentum I could gain, ramming my elbow into his gut. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip a fraction, but a fraction was all I needed. I thrust my arm back again, driving it home and then using the momentum to launch off of the couch and away from him. I stumbled as I landed, but regained my balance quickly and tore across the living room, ripping open the sliding glass door and flying out into the cruel storm.

I squinted in the slanting rain that was hammering into my skin, my hair whipping around my face as I ran as fast as I could across the slippery wooden slats towards the gate. I could hear him pounding across the deck behind me, and knew in an instant that I wasn't fast enough. I screamed as he grabbed me by the hair and swung me around, slamming me onto deck, skull cracking.

I immediately got onto my knees, trying to stand as my feet slid on the wet wood.

He grabbed me by the back of the shirt and hauled me backwards, flipping me over and placing a foot firmly on my stomach, anchoring me to the ground. Dazed, I stopped thrashing, instead staring vacantly into the torn sky. I watched the rain soaring down from the angry looking grey thunder clouds that loomed above us in the night, each droplet seeming to move in slow motion before splattering gracefully on the Earth. Thunder rumbled in the distance, rattling inside my skull.

"Sara," Trash, spoke my name like a hymn, "sweet Sara."

My head ached from being cracked against the ground, and all I could do as he straddled my body, pinning my arms with his knees, was whimper like a child. His face was silhouetted against the backdrop of the night sky, concealing his identity from me. All I could see of him were his glittering eyes as he reached down and caressed my face gently, tucking away the wet strands of hair that had plastered to my face.

I could feel the freezing rain pooling around my body, running in rivers past my arms, but that wasn't what was making my blood run cold. The touch of this killer that sat on top of me was what made my skin crawl in disgust and rage. "You son of a bitch!" I spat, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"Shhh," he cooed, putting a finger to my lips. I turned my head to the side, but he grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look up at him. "Quiet now, darling." The hand on my chin slid slowly down to my neck, where his grip began to tighten. I opened my mouth to scream but he clapped a hand over my lips, sealing in my cries. I could feel the fingers on my throat tightening, my trachea closing. I kicked and thrashed and squirmed with everything I had, but I could tell from his glazed, distant eyes that he was in another place now. Nothing I did would have any effect.

I began to weep, the wracking sobs shaking through my whole body. I closed my eyes against the pain, against the fear, and tried to think of something that would comfort me in my last moments on Earth. Grissom's face appeared in my mind, and I held onto the image, focusing on it. I remembered everything I could about him, as if I could make him real if only I thought hard enough.

I remembered the way he smelled, the way he would close his eyes in frustration when something annoyed him, the way he always tapped his spoon twice on the side of his teacup after stirring in the honey. I thought of how his eyes looked when he was talking about something he was passionate about, and the way his voice sounded when he called my name.

In my delusional state, my brain slowly starving for oxygen, I could have sworn I heard him calling me right then. I smiled in spite of everything, and let the sound of his voice carry me away. But it was getting louder, and more insistent, and suddenly I was being shaken awake.

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"Sara?"

I blinked away tears in confusion as I saw Grissom's concerned face hovering over mine.

"Grissom?" I marveled, reaching out to touch his face as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

He put his hand on mine, "Yes, sweetie, it's me. Are you alright? That must have been some dream you were having." He gestured to the tangled, twisted blanket that my legs were now entwined in. "You're soaked through," he said gently, wiping away the dampness at my forehead.

My mouth was open in amazement, and I couldn't stop the salty tears from flowing, first gathering at the corners of my mouth before leaping off of my chin. I reached out and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him against me as tightly as I could. Still in my vice-like hug, he managed to seat himself and began to hug me back, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down my spine.

"Hey, what happened to you?" he asked softly.

I shook my head; my face still buried in his neck, and held on tighter. My dream, or nightmare rather, had been so real that I was still in awe of the fact that Grissom was alive and well, and in my arms. My breathing slowed, my shaking body at last becoming still, and with great effort I managed to let him go and sit back on the couch. A little embarrassed at this point, I swiped away the remaining tears quickly, trying to compose myself. "Sorry," was all I could think to say, "I was having a nightmare."

"I always knew you suffered from night terrors," he mused, "ever since the time you asked me to sleep with you when we were working the Kaye Shelton case," ( I cringed) "but I had no idea just how awful they must be for you. You were thrashing around like someone was trying to kill you."

I gave him a look, even more embarrassed since he'd brought up the Kaye Shelton incident, "Yeah, well, thems the breaks, I guess."

He was looking at me seriously, "Sara, you can't just dismiss stuff like this. A nightmare as terrible as the one you just had means that your psyche is working overtime trying to help you through something that your conscious self won't let you deal with."

"Well thank you for that, Dr. Phil," I said sarcastically, standing and walking to the window, "but I can handle it, so let's just drop it, okay?"

"If that were true," he countered, coming to stand behind me, "then you wouldn't have nearly clocked me in the face just now struggling to wake up from some horrible dream. And you wouldn't be getting so defensive with me."

"I am not getting defensive!" I defended myself, turning to face him with my hackles raised. He raised his eyebrows at my sudden hostility, and I got the point. "Fine, maybe I'm getting a little defensive," I admitted, "but I can take care of myself, so stop worrying, okay?"

He sighed and looked past me out the window, "Just because you _can_ take care of yourself, Sara, doesn't mean you have to."

I looked at him, confused, "What does that mean?"

He put both hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, "Talk to me."

I pushed past him, walking to the kitchen in an attempt to calm my nerves. "What for? It's not going to change anything."

He put his hands on his hips, giving me space, "How do you know?"

I opened my mouth and shut it again, unable to think of a response. He nodded in disappointment and turned away, heading for the bedroom. I didn't want him to leave, or be angry at me, but what had talking to him ever gotten me in the past? A hand squeeze? But then, after a moment's thought, I realized that telling Grissom about my past had lifted a huge emotional weight from my shoulders. It was as if in telling him, he had somehow come to share the burden I had been living with all those years. He had lifted that dark, heavy stone from my heart, allowing me to breathe.

I sighed and walked to the window, resting my forehead on the cool glass. I hate being wrong. And; as hard as it was for me to admit, even to myself, at that moment I was wrong. Grissom had done the one thing I had always wished he would do: he had reached out to me, and what had I done? I had pushed him away.

I stared at the night sky displaying its brilliance before me, inwardly kicking myself for being so childish. I can be a self-destructive creature when I want to be. But I didn't want to be anymore, and so I wasn't going to be. I took a breath, watching a cloud drift across the pale blue moon, and prayed for strength as I resolutely turned and headed for the bedroom.

I cautiously pushed open the door, looking in to see Grissom putting linens on the bed. Leaning a hip against the doorframe, I crossed my arms and watched him struggle to reach across the mattress and tuck the sheet in the opposite corner. "You want some help?" I asked timidly.

He glanced up disinterestedly, "If you like."

Ah. I had hurt his feelings. _Way to go, Sara._

I walked over to the bed and pulled on a corner, smoothing the wrinkles and tucking it neatly into place. If only I could have smoothed the wrinkles of my troubled mind so easily. "Grissom?" I ventured.

"Mm-hmm?" he asked, using his chin to hold a pillow as he slipped the cover on.

"I'm sorry for being so hostile with you," I rushed, the words pouring from my mouth like a stuttering waterfall, " I know you were just trying to help me, and I was being childish," I finished quickly. Not knowing where to look, and knowing exactly where I _didn't_ want to look, I stared at the floor, taking supreme interest in a rogue piece of thread stuck in the carpet.

I felt him sit on the bed beside me, my body immediately tensing. "So," he said to the piece of floor beside mine, "is this you telling me you're ready to talk?"

I tucked my hair behind my ear, ducking my head softly, "I think so."

He looked over at me, handing me one end of the blanket and gesturing for me to help him, "So talk."

We stood and shook out the quilt, letting it _whoosh_ above our heads before slowly bringing it down onto the mattress, each of us arranging our side carefully. "Well where do I start?" I asked softly.

"Tell me about your dream," he answered, looking at me across the bed.

I stopped myself before the automatic "I don't want to talk about it" spilled past my lips, at the same time stalling with my answer. "I dreamed about the Trash Can Man," I answered vaguely. I really wasn't very good at the whole sharing thing.

"And what happened?" he pressed, handing me some pillows.

"I think he… killed you," I answered awkwardly, my stomach churning at the memory. "You couldn't help me," I continued, letting the dream return to me, "you wouldn't wake up." My breaths were becoming shallow, my vision blurry as the vivid images poured into my mind's eye. "He tried to grab me, but I ran outside, and then he was there. He was on me; he had his hands around my throat…" I stopped recanting the tale as Grissom reached out and gently worked the pillow I had unknowingly been twisting in my hands out of my tight fists. "…Sorry," I flushed.

He gave me a crooked smile, sitting down on the bed. "That sounds terrible."

"Well," I mused, curling up on the bed near him, "it's certainly not the worst one I've ever had, but it wasn't fun by any means."

I looked up and he was watching me, a sad expression on his face. "I didn't realize that this case was affecting you so much, Sara. Thinking about it now, with the situation we're in, it's a wonder you're still so composed. That shows great strength."

I scoffed, "Flailing around in my sleep and then crying like a baby? Oh yeah, definitely stoicism at its best."

"You're still here," he countered.

I didn't know what to say to that.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose absently, adjusting his glasses. "I think that counts for something. I think that counts for a lot of something, actually."

"I'm not so sure," I answered, wishing that I could be as strong as he thought I was; wishing that I could overcome the dark, underlying fear that had been lacing my every thought since this whole thing started. It wasn't fear for myself necessarily, but instead the fear of knowing that one day I would have to face this unknown evil. I didn't know if I had what it took to take down the Trash Can Man. I wasn't even sure I had the guts to find out.

"I am," he answered firmly, taking my hand. The sweet light of the lamp on the night table softened our features while outside the rain tapped lightly on the windows. I gave him a real smile then, the knowledge that at least one of us had faith in me made me more grateful to him than he would ever know. "You know I'm a part of this too," he said quietly, his hand warm in mine. "You're not alone here. I'll always have your back."

I sighed and looked at the ceiling, willing the tears of gratitude brimming in my eyes not to spill onto my cheeks. I wasn't going to let him see me cry twice in one night. "Since when do you know how to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time?" I laughed. He elbowed me lightly, and I wordlessly relaxed against him, resting my head on his shoulder as he put an arm around me.

We sat on the edge of the bed and enjoyed the silence, feeling safe together amid all the madness. After a time he said in barely a whisper, "You shouldn't be afraid to ask for help, you know, Sara. It's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of humanity." I nodded silently against his shoulder. "So if there's ever anything I can do to help you through this," he continued, "don't hesitate to ask."

I smiled to myself mischievously, lifting my head to meet his gaze. "Well, now that you mention it," I said casually, "there _is _one thing you could do."

"Really?" he asked, blinking in surprise. "Well what is it?"

I sat back on my hands, not taking my eyes off of him as I recalled the words that had vomited from my mouth a few years ago, the words that had hung thickly in the air, eventually clattering to the ground in response to his silence. Now, I was in control of them. I felt my lips curling into a tight smile as I made my request: "You wanna sleep with me?"

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I know. You hate me now, right? Not only did I pull the "oooh but it was all a dreeeam!", but I also left you with a very ambiguous cliffhanger. Am I ever glad that none of you know where I live. Anyway, if any of you decide to forgive me, it would be nice to hear some feedback! Love you all!


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n Hey everyone remember me? That author you maybe used to somewhat like? Well I'm back! I had to take a short but very necessary hiatus to write my final exams, but I'm back in action now, rest assured. I hope you like what I've done with this one, and as always pretty please leave me some comments. And in other news, if anyone lives in the Vancouver, Canada area, and needs a place to live, my roommate is moving out, so attach any applications along with your comments. j/k. mostly._

_Disclaimer: still not mine; rub it in why don't you._

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- _Every minute tells a story._

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"_Sara?"_

"_Yeah?" I turned my head to face the sunset, the swing I was sitting on rocking back and forth without a sound. Mom was walking towards me, her silhouette stark against the brilliant light. "Where have you been?" I asked as she seated herself in the swing next to mine, the fading sun burning the sky pink and orange._

_It was then that I noticed her hands._

_Blood. Dried and flaking in the folds of her knuckles, the color of roses._

"_I've done something sweetheart."_

"_What?" I asked. But I knew._

"_I'm going to go away for a while."_

"_Where?" I repeated. But I knew that, too. I wanted her to say it._

_The sky dissolved around us. She disappeared, her swing swaying back and forth, back and forth, and I was alone again._

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"Good morning."

My eyes snapped open. I panicked at the sudden realization that someone was holding me down, rendering me helpless. I prepared to spring out of my prone position and fight/kick/bite my way to freedom when thankfully a logical thought happened to wander through my brain, _Calm down. Think for a moment._

"Sara? You awake?"

…_Oh._

The events of the night before came flooding back to me, those five powerful words echoing in my brain, "_You wanna sleep with me?"_ I recalled the look on Grissom's face as I said it: first shocked, and then understanding. The orange lamplight softened his features as his solemn face broke into a warm, gentle smile. He knew what I had meant by asking him that, and it had nothing to do with sex. At least not yet. It was touching how gently he put his hand out and patted mine, answering, "Of course."

Later, as he had joined me under the covers, I smiled a little shyly and put my book on the nightstand while he tucked the covers over us, flicking out the light with a soft "Sweet dreams, Sara." I'd felt him settle in beside me, his warmth comforting as I lay awake with the darkness that had engulfed the room, swallowing me. I stared at the ceiling and listened to a clock ticking somewhere in the house. Out of my peripheral vision I could see the dark corners of the room staring at me, the edges of blackness creeping ever closer. I slowly slid my eyes to the growing shadows and couldn't bring myself to look away, with every passing second becoming more and more sure that something would come out of the stillness. Just as I had felt the panic begin to rise, Grissom, already deep asleep, rolled over and put an arm around me, pulling me against him. I remember I blinked in surprise, and as I felt his heart beating gently against my back, the looming darkness began to recede back to its corner, the long shadows becoming less and less sinister until I began to feel silly for having been afraid in the first place.

I realized then that I could definitely get used to this whole "not-sleeping-alone" thing. He pulled me tighter against him, and the steady rhythms of his breath had pulled me deeper and deeper into the seductive arms of sleep.

xxx

Now I dreamily rolled over to face him, the sunny morning light filtering through the curtains. "Good morning," I answered.

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Liar."

I laughed and pushed him lightly with the flat of my palm. "That was the best night's sleep I've gotten in as long as I can remember," I sighed.

"I'm glad to hear you're sleeping at all," he answered, moving to get out of bed.

"Hey, wait a second," I groaned,"Just stay a little longer, I was so comfortable."

"Don't you want me to make coffee?" he asked, bewildered. He knows it's my life's blood. Bless him.

"Later."

"It'll only take a second," he replied calmly.

"I swear, I'm fine without coffee, lay back, you're letting all the cold air in."

He relented and slid back in beside me, putting an arm over me as though he were protecting me. I smiled with my eyes closed and cuddled up next to him. I didn't care what kind of consequences any of this would create, all I knew was that it felt so right. I wanted it. Was that so wrong? Didn't I deserve a little happiness?

I let the steady rhythm of his heart lull me into that warm, sweet, half-waking state; in limbo between sleep and consciousness, deliciously relaxed.

That is until my cell phone ripped me back to reality like a kick in the kidneys. I fought the urge to scream and sat up abruptly.

"Should I make that coffee now?" asked Grissom, watching me lunge for my cell and angrily flip it open. I shot him a look and he nodded. "I'm on it."

"Sidle," I snarled into the phone.

"Well, good morning to you too," came Palmer's sniveling voice through the line. It was way too early in the morning to be putting up with any of Palmer's bullshit, but I gritted my teeth and forced a half assed "morning" to him. If he was expecting me to say anything else I didn't know what it was, so I sat there in bed and waited for him to continue.

"Well, I see your conversational skills are a little more lack luster than usual this morning," he chippered, "not that they're ever anything to behold." If looks could kill through the telephone, seriously, I would have vaporized the man. "Anyway," he continued, "I have today's assignment for you."

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"There's no way."

"That's what I said."

"It's not going to work. We'll have to tell him."

"I _did _tell him that, you think he listens to anything I say?"

"Well we can't do it, it's way too dangerous, not to mention we could blow our cover."

"I know."

"We can't."

"I know."

"But we have to."

"I know."

Grissom and I sat, fuming, in the car on the way to our 'mission'. I had just informed him of Palmer's hare-brained scheme, and he'd taken it the same way I had: not well. Which is why I'd refused to tell him until we were in the car, and he had no choice. Palmer had informed me that he thought it would be a great idea if Grissom and I went poking around creepy-Matt-from-the-grocery-store's house to see if we could find anything condemning. I had tried to remind him that if we found anything without a proper warrant that it would be inadmissible in court, and he had just replied, "Leave that to me." What the Hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?

I lay my head on the dashboard in exasperation, Grissom slowing to a stop for a red light.

"So is he _sure _this guy isn't going to be home?" he confirmed for the third time.

"That's what he said," I threw my hands up in exasperation. "But he says a lot of things, most of which I try not to listen to." We were approaching our destination, and Grissom pulled off into a side road and parked, as per our instructions. We sat facing each other in silence for a moment, the traffic of the main road filtering quietly into our sanctuary.

"I can't believe we're doing this," I sighed. "I feel like I'm trapped in a crappy adventure movie, being ordered around by the maniacal FBI agent who turns out to not even be a real agent at all, just some crazed psychopath looking to get his kicks watching the two of us jump through hoops for him."

"That doesn't sound like a too bad of a movie," he answered absently, digging out our ear pieces from his kit. "I don't suppose you know how it ends?"

I rolled my eyes, "I'm just praying it doesn't turn out to be a slasher flick." I leaned forward and let him feed the cold plastic cord down the back of my shirt to the battery pack that he clipped at my waist, plugging it in.

"_In dreams begins responsibility_," Grissom commented as he expertly swept my hair back and hooked the clear earpiece in my ear. I could tell by the way that he said it that he was quoting something, so I waited. "William Butler Yeats, one of my favorite poets. If you want to go after this guy you're going to have to shoulder a lot of shit, Sara, like putting up with Palmer. Take it in stride, and move on." _Grissom swears? _

"Fair enough," I answered. He finished plugging in all the wires; I could feel his warm breath on my neck, sending shivers up my spine. I ached for him to touch me more, but it was over.

"Your turn," I whispered breathlessly, clearing my throat so he wouldn't think anything of it.I set him up as quickly as I could, knowing that if I let myself linger, thought about the way he smelled or the touch of his skin, I wouldn't be able to resist any temptations. I needed my head to be clear. "Okay. Ready?"

"Yeah," he answered, stepping out of the car. I could have sworn his face was flushed, but that was probably just wishful thinking on my part. I exited the car after him and grabbed our kits, flicking on the battery pack. I could hear Grissom's voice crackling, static-y in the mic, "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," I smiled, wincing a little as the feedback from our close proximity bit into my ear.

Suddenly a third, tinny voice could be heard on the wire, "CSIs Sidle and Grissom, do you copy?" It was Cavanaugh.

"We hear you," Grissom replied.

"We've got your 20," she stated matter-of-factly, "the suspect's house is one block up the street, number 1583. Be advised the time is now 11:38 am, you have until 1:30pm sharp until the suspect will be due back from his dentist appointment. We want you out of there no later than 1:25pm, understood?"

"Got it," I answered.

"We'll be parked in the van four houses down, keep your lines open so we can give you any necessary updates," Palmer's voices barked onto the line. I made a face at Grissom as he continued to natter in our ears, making Grissom smirk. As the house came into view the whole thing became a little less make-believe, and a little more scary. My heart sped up a bit as Grissom took me by the elbow and led me to the alley behind Matt's house, where we had been assured we'd find the gate unlocked. Palmer's guys had been casing the place since the grocery store incident, and they'd discovered that he always left the kitchen window partially open for ventilation, and from the window we would easily be able to flip the lock on his sliding glass door and get into the house.

We made our way through the unkempt grass of the backyard, thanking whoever had made the decision to build high perimeter fences. We wouldn't want any neighbors getting suspicious. We stood outside the kitchen door and slid on latex gloves, two sets each, just in case. Grissom reached through the window that was indeed open and snaked his arm through to the lock on the sliding door, flipping it with a muted _click!_

He nodded back at me and withdrew his arm, leading the way into the house. Every piece of furniture seemed to be watching us as we did the initial walkthrough. Normally when I'm working a scene I don't feel like an intruder; I'm just doing my job.

Maybe it was the fact that snooping in a very-much-alive-possible-serial-killer's house wasn't exactly in my job description (at least not unless we have a warrant), but being in Matt's house, the stillness, it felt wrong.

Exasperated and uncomfortable, I decided to take out my unease on the closest possible target. "Palmer," I hissed into the two-way, "just what the Hell am I supposed to be looking for?"

"_You tell me,"_ his voice crackled in my ear, _"do you see anything suspicious?"_

"The only suspicion I'm having is of whether or not I'm legally allowed to be here. Other than that, the place looks totally normal. No torture chambers, no bits of bodies lying around. Nothing conspicuous."

"Then look for something _in_conspicuous," was the reply.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm the rage. I passed Grissom rifling through the kitchen drawers as I walked down the hall and entered the bedroom. I picked up a pink elephant statuette that was lying on the dresser, noting it had a chip on the right ear. I turned it over in my hands and placed it back in its spot. Without a thought, my methodical mind taking over at last, I began my routine bedroom search, starting with the dresser drawers. I pulled open the top drawer and began rifling through several pairs of boxers. It only occurred to me after catching a glimpse of myself in the dresser's mirror that I was now doing to Matt exactly what some freakshow had done to me just yesterday,

I laughed to myself and started to close the drawer when something caught my eye. As the horror crept over me the only thing I could think of was that Sesame Street song I used to sing along with as a kid. _"One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong…"_

Amid the flannel boxers and tube socks was one sneaking glimpse of black lace. I felt as though someone had shoved an ice cube down my back. As soon as my heart started beating again, I grabbed onto the bit of lace and yanked it out of the drawer, holding it up in front of my face. A wave of nausea took me over as my own underwear dangled from my fingers.

I turned on my heel and ran down the hall, footsteps thudding as I rushed into the kitchen where Grissom was picking apart the garbage. "Grissom!" I panted. He looked up over the top of his glasses at me. "Look!" I breathed, displaying my own black panties for him to see. Before he had a chance to react Cavanaugh's voice came shrieking into our earpieces, "_Be advised, suspect is approaching your location, abort mission NOW do you copy?!"_

Grissom and I exchanged dark looks as he flung the garbage back in the can and thrust it back in the cupboard. "Let's go!"

"Wait!" I hissed, "I have to put these back, he'll notice they're missing!"

"Sara, no!" he spat back, reaching for my arm. I twisted out of his grip and flew down the hall, bursting into the bedroom and shoving the panties back into the still-open drawer, slamming it shut in haste. From my position in the bedroom I froze as I heard the front door unlocking, a set of keys being tossed carelessly on a table.

I prayed that Grissom had had the good sense to leave without me, and damned myself for not having gone with him. For the second time in as many days, I found myself wildly looking for an exit as I stood trapped in a bedroom that was not my own. Luckily this time the window was big enough for me to fit through, and I raced to it, sliding it open as quietly as I could. I hoisted myself up onto the sill and put one leg through the opening, when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I panicked and lost my balance, falling right out the window and landing two feet below on my back with a soft thud. I rolled onto my front and went to stand, but felt a hand clamp down on my mouth and press me back against the ground.

I let out a muffled scream and began to struggle until I heard a "Shh" in my ear, and relaxed. Grissom. The relief of knowing he was okay washed over me and I felt my eyes pricking with hot tears. He scooped a hand under my torso and pulled me backwards, so our backs were up against the wall of the house. Above us we could hear Matt entering the bedroom and walking towards the window. We looked up in horror to see his hand on the sill, the tip of his nose visible as he looked out. _Don't look down, don't look down…_

He stepped back into the bedroom and slid the door shut, locking it. Grissom and I wasted no time racing around the side of the house and out onto the street, running as fast as we could to the car two blocks away. Once inside we confirmed ourselves clear of the scene and ripped our earpieces out, letting them fall to the floor of the car as I made a mental note to ream out the feds later.

The silence engulfed us, the only sound our chests heaving from the adrenaline, and mad dash back to the car. "I was so sure Matt wasn't the guy for this," I said to mostly to myself, "I mean, yeah he's a weirdo, but I didn't have him pegged as a serial killer. I wonder if the feds are going to arrest him now, or wait until we have more on him? After we have our briefing with them, I mean, they obviously don't know yet. Honestly though, when I saw my own underwear in that drawer you could have pushed me over with your pinky I was so shocked," I laughed in my anxiousness because that was all I could do about any of this wild situation I'd gotten myself into: laugh.. Then I noticed that Grissom was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, and I realized what I'd done. "Grissom," I breathed, "I'm sorry, I--"

"Save it," he answered coldly.

"But Griss if I'd taken the underwear with me he would've known I'd been there, our covers would have been blown!"

"So what?!," he turned to face me, blue eyes blazing, "You could have been killed." The most frightening kind of angry is when a person is so furious that they are silent, when the rage is so great that there are no words.

"So _what_? So he would have been free to kill even more women that's what! That is worth my life whether you think so or not Grissom," I retorted, my fury rising to match his.

The kiss was completely unexpected but not at all unwelcome, and as his lips crushed mine, pushing my head back against the passenger window, it was all I could do to keep up. He kissed me passionately, and furiously, all the built up emotion pouring into our haphazard fumbling. After a few seconds he pulled back, surprised at himself, and turned to stare out the front window.

I was panting for a whole other reason now as I sat forward and smoothed my hair. "What was that for?" I asked after a moment.

"I don't know," he answered.

"Yes you do," I responded quietly. He looked at his hands on the steering wheel. "Let's go home." I sighed.

He started the car.

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Music filtered through my dreams; soft, and silvery.

It was one of those situations where something that's happening in waking life incorporates itself into your imagination, and slowly draws you to the warmth of reality -or whatever you want to call it. My eyes fluttered open just as the music stopped, making me wonder whether it had been real after all.

After Grissom and I had gotten home the day before; giving our angry, tight-lipped statements to the humble agents who still were still scratching their heads as to why they'd been so off with their timing, we'd avoided each other until it was time to go to sleep, at which point he crawled in next to me without a word. Halfway through the night I decided that I would rather be in the dark about his true feelings for me than in the literal dark, awake and alone, so I ended the discomfort by lifting his arm and putting it around my waist, tucking myself up next to him. He immediately responded, tightening his grip on me, and just like that the awkwardness was over.

Such is life with Grissom.

Now, with morning creeping in through the window, I lay sleepily with my arm slung across his chest. Just as I was about to drift off again something woke me. The music was back, whispering and velvety. As loathe as I was to leave the protection of Grissom's arms, the investigator in me wouldn't be able to sleep until my curiosity was satisfied. I had to know where it was originating from. I eased out of bed, careful not to wake Grissom, and followed my ears out of the bedroom, my feet slapping softly on the hardwood floor of the hallway. I entered the small foyer and looked around, my mind buzzing with a strange, niggling feeling, like I was missing something that was right in front of my face. As I neared the front door, the sound grew stronger, as if it was coming from outside. Cautiously, I slid back the chain and undid the bolt, opening the door a crack. A sliver of sunlight sliced through the opening, blinding me momentarily.

As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of day, the music was definitely clearer, and definitely close by. I took a step outside, a soft wind ruffling my silk pajama bottoms, as my foot bumped into something on the ground.

A small brown package addressed to Laura Griffin aka me, was sitting innocently on the doorstep.

Playing music.

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My feet slapped hard against the floorboards this time as I rushed down the hall and threw open the bedroom door. I launched myself onto the bed and shook Grissom fiercely, making a note to myself to remember to apologize for the rude awakening later.

He sputtered adorably before sitting bolt upright and practically knocking me over. He fumbled for his glasses as he began to reproach me, "Sara, what in the Hell--"

"—Grissom!" I interrupted, "Grissom there's something you have to see." The urgency in my voice made him stop reprimanding me and instead put a reassuring hand on mine. He said nothing, waiting for me to go on. The words poured out in a panicked jumble, "There was music playing, so I followed it, you know me I can't leave well enough alone. Anyway, it sounded like it was coming from outside, and I know I've heard it somewhere before but I can't for the life of me—"

"Sara!" Now it was his turn to interrupt me. He put both hands on my arms, steadying me, and looked me squarely in the eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. "What. Is. Wrong."

I took a deep breath and willed my mind to focus, reminding myself not to overtalk. I matched his steady gaze as best I could and said calmly, "Come outside."

I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of bed, leading him down the hall and out the door. I stood to the left of the singing package and pointed, watching his gaze follow my finger as I answered, "_That_ is what's wrong."

He stared at it for a moment, his face unreadable, and then looked up at me. "Get your kit."

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"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's fine, just calm down, go have some coffee or something."

"Do not patronize me Grissom, I am just reminding you that this is the kind of thing the feds are going to want to see before we open it." Grissom was standing at the kitchen table wearing latex gloves and plastic lab goggles ("just in case"), getting ready to slice through the tape with a sharp scalpel from his kit.

"The feds can see it after I've processed it, isn't that what they wanted us here for in the first place? To process the evidence? Besides after they almost got us killed or worse yesterday I'm not very concerned with what they want."

"Fine," I answered, sitting at the table with my arms crossed, "but don't drag me into it when they get pissed at you."

"What, you're worried that Palmer won't like you anymore?"

I glared at him as he poised the scalpel and slit quickly through the tape. The idea that this could be some kind of terrible trap flashed through my mind, but it was too late to go back now. He carefully unwrapped the benign-looking brown paper surrounding the package and folded back the cardboard flaps, lifting out an intricately carved wooden music box. The lid had been propped open with something, and as he placed it on the kitchen table it clicked shut, muting the music instantly.

We both looked at each other for a moment, deciding what to do next. It was from Trash – or Matt rather, it had to be. He knew we had been in his house. "Give me some gloves," I said in a no-nonsense tone. Grissom handed me a pair and I pulled them on, snapping each one at the wrist out of habit. With one last look at Grissom, for courage, I turned the box towards myself and lifted the lid. The music began to play once more, but now that I knew who the gift was from, the music had taken on a more haunting, disturbed tone. There was a dusty mirror in the lid and it reflected my pale, anxious face back at me as I reached in and lifted out a small square of paper that had a single word written on it.

"_Soon_."

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_Well I hope you liked it! Leave me some love in the form of comments! Thanks so much for reading, and sorry again for the long wait. –Solomynne _

_PS did I mention how much I LOVE YOU ALL!!!?_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hey everyone! Okay, you wanted faster updates? Well here you go; hopefully this will get you off my backs for a while, sheesh. There's a wee bit more swearing in this one than in the other chapters, so I'm upping the rating to M just to be safe. I hope you all enjoy it, and thanks so much in advance for reading. (and commenting, if you decide to do so, which you should!!) Love you all,_

_-Solomynne_

_Disclaimer: just borrowing._

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_Death is not the worst that can happen to men._

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"_Soon_."

I repeated the word for the fiftieth time, as if in saying it enough I could somehow uncover the dark, hidden meanings behind it. "Soon," I said again. The word clanked off my tongue thickly. It had lost all meaning, the way anything does if you look at it closely enough: a word, a feeling, a blade of grass.

I eyed the brown wrapping that the package had come in, my fake name scrawled across the front. It occurred to me that there was no address, no stamp, meaning that it had to have been hand delivered. How had Matt gotten past the feds that were most definitely watching his house? Surely they wouldn't have let him approach me again. Unless maybe they were hoping he would try something, and thus give them more leverage later.

I became vaguely aware of someone saying my name, and it took me a moment to realize it was Grissom. I looked up across the table and saw him staring at me, his face etched with concern. It made me wonder how long he'd been calling me for. "Uh-huh?" I responded dazedly.

"You alright over there?" he asked. He had print powder on his face; it was everywhere, my nose and eyes burning with it. We'd printed every surface of the box and the package that it came in, nothing. Not that we needed to make a match anyway, we knew who it was from, but if we were going to nail Matt to the wall we were going to have to have more to go on than a pair of my underwear.

"I'm fine," I replied dismissively, flashing him a weak smile before returning my attention to the note in my hands. I heard the sound of a chair screeching on linoleum, and suddenly the death threat was being gently pried from my fingers. "Hey!" I protested.

Grissom put a hand out to indicate silence. "Listen. I want you to go outside for a minute and get some fresh air; it's not healthy for you when you get like this."

"Like what?" I asked, challenging him.

"Obsessive."

_Oh._

"I know the warning signs with you. Now please, stand out on the deck, just for a moment; clear your head, okay?"

"I said I'm fine."

He sighed and sat down next to me. "Don't try that with me, I know you too well. I happen to be fluent in Sara-Sidle-speak, and I know that when you say 'I'm fine' that translates into modern English as: 'I'm not fine at all, but I'm going to pretend to be until I either blow up or burn out."

I gaped at him. _Wow. He's good._

"So, please? Humor me?" He stood and lifted me by the elbow, guiding me with a hand against the small of my back. We stepped out onto the deck and I had to admit I instantly felt a little better. "There," he said soothingly, "now I want you to just close your eyes and forget about all of this okay? Let it melt away. Be calm, clear your head and I guarantee you'll be happy you did."

I eyed him for a moment wearily and then obeyed, closing my eyes against the afternoon sun. The light filtered through my eyelids, enabling me to see every single capillary winding its way across my vision, like red, glowing lace. The sun was warm on my face, the air still and sweet. I could hear children playing a few yards over, their laughter making me smile. Without a thought I slipped my hand into Grissom's, who had been standing silently next to me like a guard. He squeezed my fingers reassuringly, and I felt my throat tighten. I didn't want the moment to end.

I wanted it to be like this forever, the two of us standing on a sunny deck, hand in hand, no cares or obligations. I turned into him, burying my face in the soft skin of his neck, and relaxed against him as he put his arms around me tightly.

"It's okay," I heard him whisper in my ear. "Everything's going to be okay Sara."

Tears welled up in my eyes and I hugged him tighter, trying to block out the fear that was building in my heart. It was hard; knowing and not knowing. I knew that Matt was going to come for me, but when, or what he would do once he did was as uncertain as what was happening between Grissom and I. I clenched my teeth against a sob and prayed that the feds would nab him before he nabbed me.

I felt Grissom plant a chaste kiss on my head, just above my left ear. I pulled out of his tight grip and looked him in his deep blue eyes. The feelings he had for me were written as clear as day across the map of his face. I wished he could voice them for once. We had crossed a line during our time together, something I hoped he wouldn't try to back out of later. We had allowed the clever disguise of our make-believe marriage to let us be honest for once. Honesty; masquerading as game of pretend. This would all be so much easier if at least _one_ of the two of us was any good at expressing emotion, or having healthy relationships.

Still, the thought that soon all of this would be over sent a pang of sadness through my heart. No more playing house, no more fantasies. I put my hand to his face and brushed away some print powder. He leaned into my open palm and I ran my thumb across his lower lip. I could feel the tears on my face drying in the warm air. I leaned in and kissed him gently, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into me. I felt his hands on my back, running up and down, dipping into the top of my jeans. Everywhere he touched turned to fire. The kiss deepened, revealing our true desperation and need for each other, the pent up emotions pouring into every delicious caress. It was as if we were making up for every time one of us wanted to touch the other, and didn't. Every time one of us wanted to tell the other how we felt, but couldn't. I bit his bottom lip gently, pulling it outwards and then releasing it. I laughed and nipped his chin, and he smiled and kissed my neck sweetly.

"Grissom," I said between the kisses he was planting on my chin, my eyes, my nose, and forehead. "Grissom I…" I trailed off as his strong fingers ran through the thick curls of my hair, sliding down my back and up under the hem of my shirt. My knees were turning to jell-o; my entire body was aching for his touch, his kiss.

"Hey guys!" came a jovial voice from somewhere behind us. I screamed a yelp of surprise and jumped backwards away from Grissom. A blonde head came bobbing around from the side of the house, a lanky hand coming up over the side gate to unlatch the lock at the top. Officer Devlin also-known-as Officer shit-for-brains waltzed into the backyard in full uniform and smiled up dumbly at us as he walked towards the steps leading to the sundeck.

Grissom and I gaped at him for a moment, but I managed to regain my composure first. "Just what in the Hell do you think you're doing?!" I hissed, trying not to attract attention from the neighbors.

A puzzled look slowly crept across his wide, pale face. "Who, me?" he asked, pointing to his badge. How the Hell this guy ever got onto the force is beyond me.

"Yes, you!" I shrieked in a whisper. "You can't just come waltzing into the backyard in uniform like that; you're going to get our cover blown!" I decided it was unnecessary to mention the fact that I was quite sure that had already happened; the feds still didn't know about the box yet, and this guy needed a good kick in the ass.

"Well I tried the front door but no one answered," he explained, as if that justified everything. "Besides, they already got the guy."

"What?" interjected Grissom. "What are you talking about?"

"The serial whatsit, that Matt guy. Boss sent me over to tell you two he's in custody now, Palmer thinks we've got enough to nail him in court."

"We couldn't possibly have enough to get a conviction," I said, turning to Grissom, "all we've got is a pair of stolen underwear and a bunch of speculation."

"That does seem strange," he agreed.

"Well either way the case is closed as far as you guys are concerned," piped in Devlin, picking his ear with his pinky. "Palmer sent me here to tell you two the good news, and to let you know that you leave for Vegas tonight."

"Tonight?" I echoed, feeling all the blood drain from my face. _So soon?_ I looked at Grissom and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. Would we be brave enough to continue on without the front of a fake relationship to justify it?

"Yep," answered Devlin, inspecting his fingernail for wax. "I'm supposed to take you guys down to the station to watch the interrogation, and then drive you back to the city."

Instead of the relief I should have felt at knowing it was all over, I selfishly could think only of my own feelings, my own heart. "Well," I said quietly, having lost all taste for picking on the dull-brained cop, "why don't you come inside while we get our things."

I didn't dare look Grissom in the face as I walked past him, my head cast down. I pushed open the sliding glass door and headed for the bedroom to get my belongings.

I moodily wrenched my suitcase out of the closet and flung it open on the bed, jamming my things in haphazardly. A small knock at the doorway made me turn around to see Grissom standing behind me, his arms crossed.

"Sara, you okay?" he asked quietly.

I turned my back to him, shoving a fistful of clothes into the case. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"No you're not," he challenged. I could feel him close behind me now but I refused to turn around, instead taking great care in folding some crumpled up shirts I'd tossed on the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, okay?" I pleaded, my eyes stinging, "I'm fine so just leave it."

"Sara…"

"Grissom, I know what you're going to say," I choked, flicking a tear at the corner of my eye with a knuckle. "So just save us both a bit of time, and spare me the heart-to-heart."

"What do you think I'm going to say?" he asked, grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me to face him. I jammed the heel of my wrists into my eyes, trying to dam the tears. After a moment I gained composure and took my hands away, looking at him.

"You're going to say that once we get back to Vegas everything is going to go back to the way it was; with us wanting to be with each other so badly, but being too scared to do anything about it."

"Sara…" he began again, but my phone interrupted the moment.

"I have to get that," I said sadly, pushing past him to the night table and closing myself in the ensuite bathroom for privacy. I flipped open my phone and cleared my throat, "Sidle."

"Evening Ms. Sidle," came Palmer's voice. "I've got some good news."

"Let me guess, you've taken Matt into custody and you're waiting on us to watch the interrogation?" I sighed..

"Something like that," he said, surprised.

"Just what makes you think you've got enough to arrest him?" I asked, making sure to keep any confrontational tones out of my voice. I was so tired of arguing.

"Well," he began, as I pictured him with his feet up on a desk counting off the facts on his fingers, "he fits the profile, he broke into the rental and stole your underwear, he was creeping around outside your place, made threatening remarks to you when he found out you were married, shall I go on?"

"If you're going to get a conviction you're going to have to, because that's not enough to take anyone into custody. We can't prove he did half of that, and even if we could, it's not enough."

He didn't sound at all put out, remarking, "Well we've still got Jennifer Kostuik to go on."

"Who?"

"The brunette you two found in the desert."

_Ah, how soon they forget._

"She's awake," he continued, "and as soon as we get through with the interrogation here we're taking him back to Vegas so she can make the ID."

"Well are you going to come back to Vegas with us tonight then? If you wanted more time for the interrogation Grissom and I wouldn't be totally put out if we had to wait until tomorrow morning to get back home." I added casually. Any little excuse to have more time with Grissom.

"Sidle, what are you talking about?" asked Palmer irritably.

"Devlin told us you wanted us to leave for Vegas tonight, I was just thinking--"

"Whoa, whoa, Devlin told you what? Why have you been talking to Devlin, I sent him back to LV yesterday morning."

"What?" I asked, confused. "He's here now; he's the one that told us you have Matt in custody."

"I haven't talked to Devlin for a day and a half," was the abrupt reply. "What is he doing there? I sure as Hell didn't send him to take you back to Vegas; I need the two of you to stay at least another day to tie up loose ends. And I didn't tell him we had Matt in custody either."

My throat was dry. "Palmer when did you arrest Matt? What time was it?"

"Around 3:30 I guess, just a little after your near-miss at his house. Why? You know what, let me talk to Devlin; I think he must have gotten his wires crossed as to what his instructions were."

"So Matt couldn't have been the one to drop off the music box…" I trailed off, thinking out loud.

"Music box? What music box?"

"And you didn't send Devlin here…"

"No, I already told you that. The big ape must have misheard me."

"How long have you known Devlin for?" I asked suddenly, a dark idea creeping into my mind.

"Not long, he's just on loan from the Clark County; we needed a few extra bodies."

The room was spinning; I collapsed onto the toilet in shock. Could this be happening? Could I really have misjudged someone so grossly? A dull thud sounded from the direction of the kitchen, and any doubts I'd had were chased away by the terrifying thought that I had left Grissom alone.

"Palmer," I hissed into the phone, "send back-up here, now. Matt's not the one you want." Before he could protest any further, I snapped my phone shut and slid it into my back pocket. I put an ear to the door and listened closely, trying to remember whether I'd heard Grissom leave the bedroom or not.

Taking a moment to calm myself in an attempt to ease my hammering heart, I hesitatingly put my hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it to the right, pushing the door open a fraction of an inch. The hinge squeaked slightly and I cringed, sweat forming on my under arms and palms. I opened the door a little further and looked around the room. Grissom was gone.

I cautiously stepped out of the bathroom, my eyes flicking to the empty doorway. I swallowed, tucking my hair behind my ear nervously, and crept towards the door, gripping the frame and leaning my head out into the hall. I looked towards the kitchen, my clammy fingers slipping on the doorframe. From where I stood I could see half the table and two empty chairs, the music box visible on the table corner where I'd left it. _Where_ I'd left it, but not _how_ I had left it. Someone had opened the lid, and its eerie music slowly wound its way through the air towards me, making my blood run cold. I wanted to call for Grissom, but I was too scared that he wouldn't answer.

A dark feeling of dread filled my body, like a cold, damp hand closing over my heart. I licked my lips and padded stealthily down the hall into the empty kitchen. I walked to the table and snapped the lid shut, the cutting off the chilling music abruptly. The thought crossed my mind to grab a knife from one of the drawers, but then in a very "Duh!" moment, I remembered my gun stashed beneath the window seat in the living room.

I dashed to the window and tore off the pillows, throwing up the lid to the seat. Both my and Grissom's guns lay at the bottom, and I scooped mine up and slid it into the back of my jeans, the cool weight comforting me. Then I grabbed Grissom's and kept it in hand, pointed downwards.

I stood slowly, gathering my wits. I had to find Grissom and get us both out of there, but the question was: where was he? Did Devlin already know that I suspected him? If that thump I'd heard a few minutes earlier was anything to judge by, he knew. I decided to remain silent and search the rest of the house. My breath ragged, I methodically entered and scanned each room until I was back at the entrance to the bedroom. Could they have gone outside? I began to head for the door when something caught my eye. In the bedroom, on the floor under the window, I could just see the upper part of a hand protruding from behind the bed.

"No!" I breathed, rushing inside. I flew to the window, kneeling beside an unconscious Grissom, a bloody gash raking across his forehead. I dropped the gun I was carrying and shoved my knuckles into my mouth to keep from screaming as I checked for a pulse. As soon as I felt the warm, steady beat beneath my fingers, a relief like nothing I had ever known washed over me. Relief, and a joy that soared through my body like a drug, but was quickly replaced with sheer terror as I sensed someone else in the room. I spun around and saw Devlin standing in the doorway, looking very different than he had only minutes ago when I had seen him last.

His eyes, normally open and innocent, had become glittering and cruel. All of his normally dull, soft features had been twisted as if by some demented sculptor into a hard and malicious visage. He looked at me and I no longer saw the dim-witted, bumbling cop I had once known as Devlin. There was an intelligence in his eyes that had not been there before; his movements taking on a predatory edge.

"Sara," he whispered quietly, just the way he had in my dreams. The Trash Can Man. "I've been waiting so long. I wanted to take you right then, right when I first gave you that ride from the hospital." I maintained eye contact with him as I slowly snaked my hand towards Grissom's gun that lay on the floor next to him. "You were looking so beautiful, and angry," he went on.

_Almost there…_

"I knew you were feeling vulnerable after being alone with Jennifer, it was written all over your face."

_So close…_

"Let me tell you it took all my strength and then some to let you go again," he finished, smiling at me in the way a wolf smiles at a rabbit. "But darling, we're together now, and that's all that matters." His lips stretched further across his teeth, "And, sweet Sara, I've already got everything you might need at the place that I'm taking you to, so you can leave that gun behind."

_Shit._

He took a step closer to me and I shrank back against the wall, putting a hand out to steady myself as I got to my feet. I reached back into the waistband of my pants and drew out my gun, brandishing it at him.

"Don't fucking move," I spoke slowly, trying as best I could to sound brave. "I swear to God, I will liquefy you if you take a step closer." He chuckled patronizingly and clapped his hands together under his chin, putting a foot out as though he were about to step forward, testing me. I drew back the hammer of the gun, the resounding _click_ showing him I meant what I said. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"That's right, I'm not bluffing," I said sharply, willing my voice not to crack "so stay where you are and don't move a muscle. If you try anything, _anything_, I will end you. It's as simple as that."

"Oh Sara," he sighed, his hands dropping to his side in defeat. "If only you knew."

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking, but suddenly I heard my own voice ringing clear out of my mouth, in an authoritative tone, "Knew what, Devlin?" I aimed the gun a little higher, so it was pointed right between his eyes. He had to know I meant business.

"Well I was just thinking it would probably be helpful for you to know," he started explaining, walking towards me casually.

Without a second thought, just as he was mid-stride, I pulled the trigger and waited for the familiar sound of explosion, the heat, the bucking of the gun in my hands, the smell of hot metal.

Nothing.

I pulled the trigger again, and the only response I got was the tiny, empty, pitiful, _snap! _of the empty chamber attempting to fire. "As I was saying," he continued in a mockingly bored tone as he stepped closer, "it would probably be helpful for you to know that I took the liberty of borrowing these a little earlier." He held out his hand and brandished two full cartridges, smiling at me horribly.

I immediately felt like I was going to be sick. My eyes widened and my hand dropped loosely to my side, the useless gun clattering to the floor. "Oh God…"

Devlin laughed; a high, sharp bark, and began to close the distance between us. My mind racing, I quickly bent down, grabbed the gun and hucked it at him as hard as I could. The heavy butt of the gun struck him in the head, hard, and I used that moment of confusion to leap up onto the bed and launch past him into the hall.

I heard him screaming, _"BITCH!"_ at me as I flew down the hall, through the kitchen and onto the deck. Where was that fucking backup?! I could hear him thundering down the hall behind me as I fumbled with the latch to the deck's gate leading into the yard. My shaking hands could not seem to master the simplicity, so I scrambled up onto the deck's ledge and tried to jump. I cried out in panic as he closed in, stopping me from jumping by grabbing my ankle and hauling me back down. I fought against him, thrashing and flailing, and managed to cuff him in the face and again in the kidneys, but all that seemed to do was piss him off, his grip on me only tightening angrily. He viciously grabbed me by the hair, slamming me down onto the deck, and sat down hard on my stomach.

Dazed from the blow to the head, I grunted under the weight as all the air in my chest was pushed out of me, and his heavy hand clamped down securely on my mouth. Pinning my arms with his knees, he reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a syringe containing an alarmingly red liquid. My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes, and I watched him grab the safety cover with his teeth and slide it off, spitting it across the deck. The needle glinted sinisterly, and he yanked the plunger back with his teeth, tapping it against the deck to remove air bubbles.

He pushed the plunger a little and some of the liquid shot out of the end, sprinkling across my face. It was warm. I had been struggling and writhing since he had begun to sit on me, but as soon as I saw the needle I knew it was over. I lay still and watched in horror as he lowered the deadly tip to my neck and whispered, "Don't move, my darling."

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_I dreamed of my mother again._

_The sun was rising this time, its orange glow spilling over the horizon and illuminating her face. She smiled against it and rocked slowly in her swing, back and forth, back and forth._

_Her hands were nearly clean now._

_She looked to her left, to the empty swing where I had sat the last time we met, and her happy expression fell._

"_Sara?"_

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	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hey guys, hope you like this one, I had a bit of a hard time getting it written. Oh and yet again I was only given a handful of reviews, the rest of them came all at once just today, so I haven't had time to respond to a lot of them yet. But I will! And thanks to everyone who commented. Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!_

_-Solomynne_

_Disclaimer: Not mine!_

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_I'm so sorry I was blind._

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"_You are always on my miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind! You are always on my-y miiiiiiind."_

I woke to the worst hangover I'd ever had.

Times fifty.

I let out a soft groan, opening my eyes slowly to hazy, distorted vision. Blurred outlines of upside-down palm trees and telephone wires flew past a dusty window, a gentle wind teasing my hair. I was bound, sprawled on my back in the backseat of moving car, a western radio station blaring loudly. My arms and shoulders ached from being pulled tight behind me for God knew how long. I felt light and floaty, my vision taking a moment to slide into place as I looked around me.

Devlin was in the front seat wearing a cowboy hat, singing along boisterously to an Elvis Presley song. "_I'm so sorry I was bliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind!" _ The sight of him reminded me of how I had gotten there, the frightening chase and ensuing struggle that had ended in me being knocked out by some powerful drug. I tried to struggle against my bonds, but as light as my head felt, my limbs seemed as though they were packed full of sand; heavy and listless.

I whimpered in distress, trying desperately to wriggle my non-responsive wrists out of the zap-straps that bound them behind my back, but all I managed to do was catch Devlin's attention. I saw his sharp blue eyes flick to watch me in the rearview mirror. "You awake back there?" he asked, sounding surprised. "I thought I gave you more than that. Ah well, doesn't make much difference, we don't have far to go."

I tried to scream at the top of my lungs, to swear at him, or yell for help, but my vocal chords seemed to have other plans, my mind still fuzzy from whatever dopamine I had been injected with. I let my head fall back onto the seat in exasperation and sighed angrily.

"Oh, come on now, don't be like that!" he laughed merrily, a small hint of the Devlin-of-yore shining through. "At least you're not alone." I snorted in contempt at the idea that I would prefer the company of a homicidal maniac over a little solitude. "Oh, I didn't mean _me_, dearest," he shot over his shoulder, making a left hand turn. "But don't think I'm not a little hurt at your reaction. In any case, I meant your boss, Grishom or whoever."

_Grissom?! _

My eyes widened a fraction. "Well I couldn't very well just leave him there. He would have given away my identity to Palmer, and I couldn't have that happen. Not when I'd gone out of my way to frame Matt." Grateful tears sprung into my eyes at the knowledge that Grissom was still alive, and that Devlin apparently had no idea that I had already spoken with Palmer and given him away.

"Now of course I wasn't exactly planning on taking _two_ people back with me, so I had to … improvise a little." At those words I felt a thump against my side, and a muffled yell. Someone was calling my name over and over. I turned my head toward the seatback, simultaneously fighting a wave of nausea and wincing at a shooting pain that accompanied the movement. It took my muddled brain a moment to work it out, but once I did the anger swept over me in a rush. _He's in the trunk._

"Don't worry," Devlin reassured me as he pulled over, gravel crunching under the tires. "He's got plenty of air." The car stopped and the engine shut off, shuddering to a halt. Devlin spun around in his seat, steely eyes glinting. "And although it was a bit unexpected, the more the merrier, I always say." I stared at him unblinking, waiting to see what he would do. "Oh Sara, as lovely as it is to see those brown eyes of yours, I'm afraid you'll have to go back to sleep for a while again. I have a feeling Mr. Grishom is going to be rather difficult to handle," he said, turning forwards in the seat and pulling something out of a bag, "and I don't want you running off on me in the meantime. You understand, don't you?"

I willed my paralyzed body to kick at him, to bite and spit and snarl. Instead all I could master was a wilted glare and, using every bit of strength and concentration I had in me, to utter, "Fug you…"

His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped dangerously, "You will…" He revealed a soaked rag he had been concealing in his closed palms, the bitter smell of chloroform filling the car, "…in time."

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It had been a long time since I had felt the rain on my skin.

Living in the desert, rainy days are few and far between, and that is how most people like it. But not me. There was always something so special to me about the sweet, fresh feeling of rain falling on my bare skin. It's like nature is washing you clean.

I reveled in the fat, cool droplets spattering my arms and face, each one tracing a different path down my body. My hair clung to my head, my clothes sticking to me like Cling Wrap, and still I smiled in pleasure.

As much as I love the rain though, there are a few downsides to getting a good soaking, one very important one being that when someone slaps you it hurts at least twice as much. As one might guess, when I felt the first crack across my face I cried out in pain, tears springing to my eyes. Instinctively I tried to put a hand to my burning cheek, but found that I could not. This is when I felt the second smack, the one that really woke me up. My eyes snapped open in confusion and anger as I whipped my head to the side, turning away from the direction of the attack. My expression of rage quickly turned to one of surprise as I realized that it was not raining at all.

I was sitting, fully clothed, in a grimy bathtub with the showerhead pouring ice-cold water over my body. I blinked in shock as I took in the scene before me, and caught sight of Devlin raising his hand for a third slap. I screamed, a tight yelp, and scrunched my eyes shut waiting for the blow.

I waited for a moment, heart thudding, body braced, but instead of a backhand I heard Devlin say "Oh! You're awake!" I cautiously opened one eye and then the other, his pale face watching me eagerly. The freezing water had begun to burn with cold, stabbing me like knives. I was starting to shiver as I tried desperately to see through the wet curtain of hair that had fallen into my eyes, the streaming water blurring my vision. "How are you feeling?" he asked over the roar of the shower.

"Oh just peachy," I snarled, comforted at the realization that I could speak again. And although it was nice to be able to move as well, with my newfound mobility came a lot of pain and stiffness from being in such an awkward position for so long. He sat back on his haunches and watched me shake with cold, as though he found it amusing. My body temperature had dropped so low my teeth had begun to ache, my hands and feet numb. What seemed like decades later he finally reached up over my head and turned off the water.

The sudden silence frightened me. I looked through the wet ropes of my hair at him, waiting for something to happen. I had seen the pictures of his other victims, so I knew that whatever he had in store was not going to be pleasant. He was a true psychopath in every sense of the word. The real McCoy.

My nervous, ragged breathing mottled the silence until eventually I spoke: "What are you going to do to me?"

He smiled at me strangely while I berated myself for asking something of which I knew the answer would only upset me more, and replied, "Well first I'm going to get you dried off and out of those zap-straps," my heart lifted, "…and into some more solid restraints," …and sank back down again. "Sorry for the rude awakening but in my experience the best way to wake up someone who's coming off of dopamine is a cold slap to the face."

For reasons of self-preservation, I chose not to acknowledge the fact that he had had lots of experience in drugging and reviving women. In fact I tried as hard as I could to pretend as though I were speaking with an old friend, and not my kidnapper and/or soon-to-be killer. Had I decided to let myself be aware of the idea that I was tied up, helpless and wet, in a rusty bathtub being held captive by a serial killer, I would have lost it. And I couldn't afford to lose it. Not yet.

I squirmed in discomfort and he took that as his cue to take me by the elbows and lift me out of the tub. It bothered me that he had me by the elbows in the same way that Grissom had gotten in the habit of doing, seeing it as a twisted perversion of something done out of love.

My legs were still feeling heavy and lethargic, and loathe as I was to have to do it, I was forced to lean my weight against Devlin as he helped me out. I looked around the room we were in as he threw a musty towel over me, pressing my wet clothes against me and making me shiver. The paisley, yellowed wallpaper was peeling and cracking off the walls. The toilet, sink, and tub were caked in rust and mildew; spider webs and dust decorated every nook and cranny.

"Do you live here?" I asked, appalled.

"No, of course not," he laughed. "This is just a place I have for when I need to… get away." He explained. Again I chose to ignore why he would need a second home, the walls in my mind protecting me from wondering about what terrible things had probably taken place in the rooms within.

"Where are we?" I asked, glancing out a filthy window.

"Never you mind," he snapped, his mood switching from calm to defensive instantly. "We'll be gone soon anyway, so it won't make any difference."

"Gone?" I asked, my blood running cold. I waited against the sink while he opened the bathroom door and led me down a dingy, poorly lit hallway.

"I've decided it's time for a change of venue," he replied, opening a creaky door and shoving me into the house's master bedroom, "so you and I are going on a road trip very soon." I looked around the room, which was as filthy and unkempt as every other part of the house that I had seen. The moldy carpet was worn and stained; an old lamp on the bedside table cast a yellow, dirty light onto everything.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed, the faded red comforter puffing out a small cloud of dust as I sat down. "When are we leaving for this 'road trip'?" I asked, calculating how much time I had to try and plan an escape.

"Tomorrow morning," he answered, walking across the dusty room and shutting the blinds. "Which is actually," he glanced at his watch, "only four hours away. I've got a few things to take care of, so I'll get you changed and then I'll be downstairs for awhile," he said, walking towards me.

"If you think you think you're getting my clothes off, you've got another thing coming," I growled as he approached. He had a pile of dry clothes and a pair of scissors waiting in the wooden chair beside him. The scissors, I prayed as he picked them up, were for cutting the straps that bound my wrists together behind me. He smiled at me patronizingly as he laid the clothes on the bed, bending down so he was eye level with me.

He reached his hand out towards me, scissors glinting menacingly, but instead of going to cut my bonds, he suddenly grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched my head back, exposing my neck while putting the sharp, cold steel of the blade against the delicate skin at my throat. "If you think you have a choice over anything that happens to you anymore, little girl," he whispered, digging the blade in deep enough to make me cry out, "_you_ have another thing coming. Understand?"

He knew full well that had I nodded the blade would have sliced clean through my carotid, so when I remained silent, my panicked gulps of air making my chest heave as tears trailed down my cheeks and into my ears, he took that as my assent. He released the fistful of my wet curls and took the scissors to my wrists, snapping through the plastic straps easily. "Don't you dare try anything funny," he warned, stepping back and brandishing the scissors.

For the first time in hours I brought my arms forward, moaning at the pain of my protesting muscles. The hard plastic straps had dug deep into the skin of my wrists, and as I pulled them off, wincing in agony, the warm blood spilled freely down my forearms. Devlin stepped forward with bandages, as though he had anticipated this. "Lay back on the bed."

I stared at him and he stepped forward and shoved me back, pinning one of my sore, bleeding wrists with his knee. I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to scream as his knee ground harder into my injured wrist; I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction anymore.

He finished bandaging one wrist and switched positions, bringing my other wrist up to tend to it. He worked quickly, stopping only once to threaten me when I began to squirm under him. When he was finished he thrust a finger at the pile of clothes next to me, "Get changed. I'll be back as soon as I can."

I looked at the clothes and realized they were my own. But none of the things that lay before me had been things that I had taken with me when I left Vegas. He saw me looking at them in confusion and smiled over his shoulder as he walked out of the room, "I took the liberty of stopping by your apartment the other day. I love what you've done with the place. Your landlady is a very trusting woman, by the way. She really needs to work on that."

Before I had a chance to say anything, he was gone, locking the door behind him with a resounding _click_. I stared at the door, listening to his fading footsteps, and then let my head drop, my wet hair falling around me. I buried my face in my hands and allowed myself to break down, just for a moment.

"Jesus Sara, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" I asked myself aloud, my eyes filling with tears. I wept softly as I pulled my wet clothes off and changed into the dry ones, taking comfort in the smell of my apartment, of me, that lingered in them. I didn't so much feel like myself anymore, so it was nice to at least have the memory of who I used to be. Once I was dressed I took a quick look around the room. The walls were a faded red color with dark wood paneling in the corners, chipped and scratched to all Hell. A few bland paintings hung on the walls, a sailboat at sea, a flower garden, all done in pastels; you know, the kinds of paintings you see in the waiting room at a dentist's office.

_The only difference here is you're waiting to die, not get your teeth cleaned._

I shook my head, clearing away the morbid thoughts. I couldn't afford to waste energy thinking about any of that, I needed to focus all my attention on finding a way out of here, and finding Grissom.

_Grissom…_

I pinched myself to clear my head again and started for the windows. I was on the second floor, the window looking out into an overgrown backyard that was knee-high with brown, dead grass. The perimeter was surrounded with trees and brush, so there was no way of telling where in Nevada I was. Or if I was even still in Nevada at all; who knows, maybe I had been out for days. I stared outside, watching the clouds ambling their way through the early evening sky; resolve and determination building in my chest.

I ran a finger along the dirty inside ledge of the windowsill, on the offside chance that it wasn't sealed shut.

Alas, rusty nails ran all along the inner lining, driving deep into the wood of the ledge. I picked at one with my fingernails, but it was clear that it wasn't going to budge. I checked the other window just to be thorough, and then turned my attention to the only other chance for escape: the door. I walked to it determinedly and inspected it with the eye of a criminalist. There was no dead bolt, only a cheap handle lock.

I smiled in satisfaction. We used to have to same kind at the back door of my old house; my big brother taught me how to unlock it one day, a day not too long before our lives would change forever. He had found me sitting on the porch waiting for him to come home because I had forgotten my key.

"_It's simple, Sara," he grinned, the same brown eyes as my own smiling down at me, "just take something skinny, like one of your hair pins, and put it in where the key goes, see?" _

I didn't wear hair pins anymore, so I scoured the room looking for anything that might fit. Crawling on my hands and knees, I noticed that the wood on the door frame was splintered at a place near the floor. I ran my fingers under it and grabbed onto a looser piece, tugging on it. It snapped in half, much too small to reach all the way to the handle's mechanism. Not allowing myself to be frustrated, I frowned in concentration and felt along the door for another loose piece. As I ran my fingers along my eyes came across something that had been etched lightly into the wood.

I squinted in the dim light, trying to read the spindly scrawl.

_Jeh, no Jen…Jennifer…_

I gasped in horror and clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. I read the words again to make sure that I hadn't misunderstood, but no, there they were staring back at me just the same as before: Jennifer Kostuik. The woman that Grissom and I had found in the desert. She had been here.

I sat back on my haunches and my eyes widened as I realized that what I had believed to be everyday wear-and-tear chipping on the door wasn't chipping at all, they were scratch marks. Apparently in her desperation, Jennifer had clawed at the door; I had seen the bloodied tips of her fingers myself. She must have at some point given up and decided that at least maybe someday; someone would read what she had written and remember that she had once existed. That she had once been there.

I felt sick as I ran a finger along the grooves of her name, remembering the state that we had found her in. I swiped the tears that had collected at the corner of my eyes and leaned forward. _She was in rough shape, but she was alive. She survived, and so will I._

I felt again along the length of the door and grabbed onto a lengthy piece, ripping it off ferociously. It came off in one clean sliver, just the right size. I laughed quietly in triumph and got up on my knees, working it into the key hole.

My brother's young face filled my mind, cheeks red with cold, breath pluming. "_Now, take the pin and slide it into the keyhole, all the way until you feel a spring pressing back against you. You feel it kiddo?"_

_I nodded eagerly, tongue poking out at the corner of my mouth in concentration, and he continued his lesson, "Okay, push on the spring with the tip of the pin, and at the same time, turn the door handle." I followed his instructions and the door swung open, the warm air from the laundry room washing over my smiling, ice-cold face._

_I had lost touch with my brother over the years, after what happened. But I still remember that day and miss him. _

_I never got locked out again._

I fiddled with the wooden splinter, working it back and forth until I felt the rusted spring pressing back against me. I pushed on it and turned the handle, and the door swung open slowly, leaving me kneeling, heart pounding, as the hallway came back into view.

Realizing I should have thought this through a little further, I stood and stuck my head out into the hall. I debated with myself over what to do. I could try to find Grissom and get us both out, or I could do the smart thing and get myself out, and come back for him later when I had a little back-up to help me.

I put a foot out into the hall, and took a step. I never did have any common sense when it came to Grissom, and that wasn't about to change that now. I wasn't going anywhere without him.

I prowled along the hall as quietly as I could, the echoes of a television emanating from the first floor. There were three other rooms on the second floor, one more room next to mine, and two on the other side of the hall. I knew that the one at the end was the bathroom, which left the one directly across from the master suite. I stepped towards the door across from me, keeping an eye on the top of the staircase, and tried the handle. It opened easily and I stepped into an old playroom, eerie painted cartoon animals staring back at me from the walls. Their faces were frozen in toothy, silly smiles, but their eyes looked haunted to me, as though they had witnessed unspeakable things.

The room was empty, and I was starting to get incredibly creeped out, the hair on the back of my neck rising, so I stepped backwards and swiftly shut the door, shuddering in fear. Heart thudding, I turned to my last option. I froze momentarily as I thought I heard footsteps mounting the stairs, but I realized it was my own pulse beating in my ears. Letting out a sigh of relief, I stepped towards the last door and tried the handle.

Locked.

_Ah-hah. _

Chances were that if he kept all of his victims in the bedrooms, Grissom would be here. And considering the fact that the door was locked from the outside, I figured the odds were in my favor that he was. Praying silently, I flipped the lock on the door handle and pushed it, shushing spookily on the carpet. I stepped inside and looked around, my heart dropping as I saw that the room was empty. I went to turn around when a blurred shadow stepped out from behind the door and I was knocked on the floor, a familiar voice demanding, "Where is – Sara?!"

I flipped onto my back, and saw Grissom staring down at me in disbelief. "Grissom!" I began, my throat tightening as I saw his face. I sprang off the floor and wrapped my arms around his neck so tightly I thought I might choke him, my wracking sobs shaking us both. "Grissom…." I wept. His arms enveloped me, and I could feel his tears wet against my cheeks.

He pulled back and showered me with kisses, covering every inch of my face. "Sara, Sara, Sara,…" he repeated my name as though it were the only word he had ever known, hugging me tightly again.

"Grissom," I said, trying to compose myself, "we have to get out of here. The windows are nailed shut and we're on the second floor, and _he _is downstairs."

"I know honey, I know. We may have to make a run for it."

"No, that'll never work!"

"It's the only chance we have."

"But what if we--"

"Wait," he hissed, putting a finger to my lips. "Hear that?"

I cocked my ear and listened. Footsteps could be heard coming towards us. My soul fluttered in my chest in despair. There was no escaping him now.

"Come here," said Grissom, pulling me behind him and handing me a sharp piece of the wooden chair he had pulled apart. He positioned us up against the wall behind the door, shutting it again tightly, then looked back at me and gave me one long, sweet kiss, "We're fighting our way out."

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_Hope you liked it! Leave comments if you please!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: okay guys, here you go! I hope you like it, please let me know what you think, I'm always open to suggestions, or criticisms, or people who just want to say hey. Thanks for reading my darlings,_

_Solomynne. _

_Disclaimer: I told you, they're not mine, so let's all just move on, shall we?_

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_We could be heroes._

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"_Fools._"

My heart stopped.

The door to the room remained closed, Grissom and I poised behind it with our make-shift weapons, and yet Devlin's disembodied voice sliced through the tense silence as though he were right beside us, making my blood freeze in my veins. I jumped at the sound of his voice so close and whirled around to look behind me, but there was no one there.

"Where…" I began, taking a step towards the middle of the room.

"Sara don't, stay close to me," breathed Grissom, his eyes flicking to the ceiling. I looked up as well, thinking that perhaps Devlin had some kind of venting system that allowed him to travel from room to room without letting his captives know. I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, waiting for his decent, but nothing happened.

"He's toying with us…" I whispered, backing up against the wall. Suddenly I felt movement behind me, the wall I leaned on swinging inward. I fell backwards, too surprised to even cry out as I landed on my back, staring up into a pit of darkness. I felt a hand on my mouth as I was speedily dragged farther inside the wall, regaining my composure enough to struggle and thrash against Devlin while he wrenched me by the waist and tried to close the hidden door behind us. Just as the door was almost closed I saw Grissom spin around, his face twisted in rage at the sudden realization that I was being pulled out of sight. He ran towards us, shouting my name as I fought tooth and nail against Devlin. I hooked my foot on the door frame and stopped him from dragging me any further, his grip slipping at the sudden halt. Using that to my advantage, I elbowed him in the ribs and wrenched free of his grasp, flying forwards and flinging the door open. I instantly felt Grissom's strong grip on my wrist, pulling me back out into the room. I looked up at him in relief at my narrow escape, but the look on his face told me it wasn't over. The cold steel being pushed into my temple only confirmed that.

I felt an arm snake around my waist and pull me a few steps backwards, forcing Grissom to release his grip on me.

"I'm sick of this cat-and-mouse routine, you two," Devlin hissed in my ear, his breath hot and fetid. "It was fun at first, but now I'm cutting to the chase. Grishom, your girlfriend's coming with me. If you have a problem with that, I could always just shoot her right now, in front of you."

Grissom's face was full of a raw, desperate fury, the "I'm-so-mad-I-can't-even-speak" kind of anger. And here I thought I was the only one that could make him that mad. Devlin saw the rage coursing through Grissom's veins, and fed off of it like a parasite. "Yes, you'd like that wouldn't you Sara, my darling?" he crooned in my ear, stroking my hair with the butt of his gun. "Wouldn't you much rather die now, with your lover, than all alone? Hmm?"

I ignored him, staring straight into Grissom's eyes, letting the cool blue calm me. "I really think it would be best," he continued, "After all, it's a clean death now, or a very long, very messy death later, my love. Wouldn't you rather just cut your losses?"

I continued to look only at Grissom.

"Speak up now, dearest," he said through gritted teeth, obviously annoyed that I wasn't participating in his little drama.

After a moment, I heard myself speak, surprised at the calm in my voice. "Yes," I whispered, watching Grissom's eyes widen in horror, "I want to cut my losses." I heard Devlin start to giggle maniacally, triumphantly. "So," I continued, cutting his laughter off, "if you wouldn't mind letting me go, I'll get out of here. Because, _dearest_, the only thing around here I need to lose, is _you_." The broken look that had washed over Grissom's face changed slowly into a little, secret smile. He said nothing, but I knew exactly what he was thinking. "_That's my girl; I knew you wouldn't give up on me."_

Devlin's voice dropped to a dangerous, predatory whisper, "Bad move, little girl, bad move."

He started backing me towards the hidden door again, every lurching step taking me a little further away from Grissom, and with that, a little further away from freedom. "Say goodbye Grishom," Devlin hissed, "the next time you see her, she'll be on a slab."

Grissom took a step forward, "I'll see you before that happens Sara, I promise." The love and determination in his eyes made me believe him.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Devlin retorted," even if you get out of the room, you're in the middle of Goddamn nowhere, by the time you reach anyone, we'll be long, long gone, amigo."

At that point a question fleetingly crossed my mind, "_Why is he letting Grissom live?" _ Of course the last thing I was going to do was voice the question, but it still made me wonder. With those last words, he closed the distance between us and the wall, pulling me back inside, and kicked the door shut with his foot. Just as it closed, I heard Grissom yell something. It sounded like "_I love you" _but the slamming of the door drowned it out.

So I can't be sure.

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We had been driving for hours.

The eerie orange glow of the streetlights along the lonely back road cast Devlin's face into sharp, frightening shadows. Big hollows appeared under his eyes and along his cheekbones, and then his whole face would get swallowed into darkness as the streetlight passed, only to be re-illuminated with the next one.

I sighed and leaned my head on the passenger window, the handcuff that bound me to my seat rattling as I readjusted my position.

"Quit fidgeting!" Devlin snapped, "That clanking is driving me nuts."

"I think it's safe to say you're already nuts," I muttered.

"What was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I said you could release me and then you wouldn't have to hear any clanking anymore," I recovered.

"Nice try."

"Worth a shot."

I glared at the dim outline of Devlin's profile, and then turned my attention to the starry horizon stretching before us. I stared at it in awe, and it made me think of sitting with Grissom at Jennifer Kostuik's crime scene. The thought of him sent pangs of sorrow and longing through my chest; I was worried about him all alone in that awful house with the smiling cartoon walls. I hoped that he could figure out the lock situation like I had. But then, this was Grissom I was thinking of, he can figure anything out.

Allowing that to comfort me, I settled myself in my seat, making sure the handcuff didn't clank again. It seemed like it had been forever since I last slept, the gentle hum of the tires on the road, and the soft up-and-down of the car rocking me to sleep. I was about to drift off when Devlin's voice snapped me awake again. "You want to listen to the radio?"

I looked out the window at the passing trees, looking like guards standing at attention in the dark of night. "Sure," I answered quietly. It's surprising how civil we could be with each other, considering. Still, it wasn't about to turn into a case of Stockholm syndrome, I still very much despised him.

He flipped on the radio and a Patty Griffin song came on, my heart lifting a little. It always surprises me how much hope a good song can instill in you, and Patty is one of my favorites. Her soothing, smoky voice wavered in the silence, wrapping around my soul. I stared out the window and relished in the few moments of peace the song gave me, trying hard to keep Devlin from noticing how much I was enjoying it. He seemed to delight in taking away the things that make me happy.

I knew I should be watching the road, keeping a careful note of which way we turned and what roads we were on, but my eyelids seemed so heavy. I pinched myself and forced my eyes to stay on my surroundings, but in the dark it all looked the same. We had been driving the same stretch of road for what seemed like forever; a wire and wooden fence lining either side of it, with power lines routinely placed in front, and trees sporadically scattered beyond.

The evenly spaced white lines of the road began to hypnotize me, each one just the same as the last. I felt my chin drop, my head coming to rest on the windowsill, and just as I was about to drift off a very morbid thought crossed my mind. I had wondered when he first shoved me into the car at gunpoint why Devlin was allowing me to ride in the front seat, unbound and completely conscious, and then the answer hit me: _He doesn't care whether I see where we're going, because he doesn't think I'll be living long enough for it to matter._

Suddenly I wasn't tired anymore.

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"Get out."

"What?"

"You heard me."

We were at a gas station just off the I-95 in the middle of the Mojave. At least that's where I guessed we were, but I did eventually end up falling asleep, giving in to the demands of my exhausted body, so we really could have been anywhere. The thing about deserts is that they look the same wherever you are; there's no telling one part from the next.

The gas station looked like it got maybe one customer a day. There was an old man in overalls sitting out front in a wooden chair beside a battered screen door, a crackling radio blasting. Wearing a cowboy hat and a stained t-shirt that I can only guess might have at one point been white; he looked like he had walked straight out of a cliché.

I stepped out of the car, my legs feeling weak from misuse, and my bladder feeling like it was ready to burst. Devlin came up stealthily behind me and pressed the revolver into my back. "Don't even think about saying a word to anyone right now, you got that? As of this moment, you don't speak English, understand?" I nodded, my heart pounding as my brain raced with all the possible escape routes. The thing was, even if I did get away from Devlin somehow, I had nowhere to go. I was in the middle of the desert with no car and no phone.

Somehow, it just didn't seem like the odds were in my favor on this one.

_Wait…no phone?_ A memory flashed into my mind; in slow motion as though I were watching a movie: just after I hung up on Palmer, I remembered hearing a thump, and as I left to investigate, I had slipped my phone into my back pocket. My palms began to sweat as a wave of hope rushed over me. _No, it couldn't possibly still be there; Devlin would have seen it, right?_

I casually slid a hand across my backside, making as if I was brushing something off. A solid, hard object brushed against my fingers and my heart soared.

I still had it.

Thank God for technology; my new phone was so thin and sleek even _I _hadn't noticed it in my back pocket. We walked up to the old man who stared at us silently without standing. "Afternoon," said Devlin, instantly transforming before my eyes to the harmless dunderhead that I had once known him to be. It was like he had just thrown on a mask that changed every aspect of his features until they were smooth and innocent; completely unremarkable in every way. Which was, in and of itself; remarkable. I had to hand it to him; he was one Hell of an actor.

"Afternoon," the old man rasped back. It sounded like he had been smoking since he was six years old, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

"My lady and I are on our way to Seattle," Devlin beamed, putting his arm around me. _Seattle? _I thought. Chances were that if he felt confident enough of the fact that I was going to die within the next couple of days; he was telling the truth. He tightened his grip on my shoulders and I stiffened, repulsed by his touch. I remained silent; I wasn't supposed to be speaking any English, and I didn't trust my Spanish enough at the moment. The man looked to me as if for some sort of conformation, and still I said nothing, so Devlin leaned on my foot, hard, and I began to nod enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

"Would you mind filling 'er up while we use the facilities kind sir?" he added.

The old man nodded brusquely and stood so slowly I thought I heard his bones creaking. Devlin escorted me inside the dusty convenience store and shoved me towards the women's washroom. "You have sixty seconds." I glared at him and brushed past, shutting the door behind me and flipping the rusted lock into place. A small, dingy window cast filtered sunlight onto the years of grime that layered everything as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and unzipped my pants to use the toilet. I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Flipping the phone open, I saw that being in the middle of the desert isn't exactly ideal conditions for making a phone call. Go figure.

"Damn, no signal," I muttered. _But, there's always text messaging._ You don't need to be within range to send a text message; your phone will save the message and send it when you get a signal, provided it isn't turned off. Realizing I had maybe thirty seconds left, I typed in HES TAKING ME TO SEATTLE and sent it to Grissom, Brass, Catherine, Nick, Greg, and Warrick, and prayed that that's we were really going.

I flipped my phone shut and went to put in back in my pocket when I noticed an engraving on the back. Squinting, I made out the letters GPS. My eyes widened.

I had forgotten that all the new phones have GPS technology in them. Grateful tears springing to my eyes, I popped the back out and took out the GPS chip. I didn't want to run the risk of Devlin finding the phone and tossing it. I stuffed the chip in my sock and put the phone away, praying the battery would last long enough to send the message.

I zipped my pants back up and washed my hands, taking the tip of my wet finger and writing in the dirt on the wall. I drew a heart with G + S in the middle, a small breadcrumb for my teammates to work with. I figured by the look of the washroom that it didn't get cleaned often –or ever for that matter – so the chances of the attendant washing off my message were slim to none. But the chances that Devlin would come in here and make sure that I hadn't been writing any SOS letters in lipstick on the mirror were pretty good, so I hoped that this would be subtle enough that he wouldn't take any notice of it.

Grissom on the other hand would figure it out, I knew he would. It was just a matter of assuming that he would somehow realize that this is the direction we were going to be driving in, and that this is the gas station we would be stopping at. That's a lot of assuming, but at the time, it was all I had to cling to.

I opened the door and Devlin was right there, standing inches away from my face. I gasped in surprise and took a step backwards; he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me up close to him, our noses practically touching. "That was seventy-nine seconds," he growled. "I'll let it slide this time."

"How generous of you," I hissed, staring straight into his eyes.

He yanked me out of the bathroom by the wrist and pushed me into the wall facing the bathroom door. "Back against the wall," he commanded. I obeyed as I saw a glint of gunmetal coming out the edge of his coat pocket. He waited to make sure I wouldn't bolt and then poked his head into the bathroom, taking a careful look around to make sure I hadn't left anything behind that I shouldn't have. I held my breath as his eyes lingered over the spot where I had left my message to Grissom, but he passed over it after a moment and turned around to face me. "Let's go."

He bought a couple of sandwiches and paid for the gas. The attendant, face streaked with grease and dirt, barely glanced up at us. It took all my strength not to burst out and grab him by the coveralls, shouting "Help! Please, help me, I'm being held against my will! This man is a murderer!" Or something along those lines, but I knew all that would get me was a bullet to the brain and possibly a matching one for the attendant.

Devlin turned to leave and I lagged slowly behind, glancing over my shoulder wistfully at the oil-caked elderly man; wishing he could have helped me. Devlin grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me along, waiting for me to strap in before he walked around the car and got in himself.

The old man returned to his seat on the porch and kept his eyes trained on me as I sat miserably in the front seat, waiting for Devlin to start the car. Just before we pulled away he nodded at me once, smartly, and raised a grubby hand to wave to me.

I bit back a sob, feeling as though this was some kind of last goodbye, and raised my hand to bend my fingers, once, before we drove out of sight.

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_Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink._

We had been driving for what seemed like forever.

I stared at the endless, sun-bleached road before me and it looked about as barren and bleak as my future. My phone had died hours earlier, letting out one final chirp of warning before it shut off. It had been a quiet, technological warble, but not quiet enough to escape Devlin's notice. It earned me a busted lip and a black eye, the shattered pieces of my phone skittering across the highway and under the tires of the semi-truck roaring along behind us.

Now, surrounded by cars and people on all sides, I had never felt more helpless or alone. If just one of the people in the cars merely three feet away from me could have known what was happening, or if I could have somehow signaled to them and let them know what was going on…instead I was forced to watch as hundreds of people who could have potentially saved me drove past without a second thought.

I crossed my arms, running my tongue across the thin cut on my lower lip. I caught a glimpse of myself in the side view mirror, and barely recognized who I was. My already pale skin looked practically transparent, the dark red of the dried blood standing out stark against my face. The bruising under my eye was minimal, a dark purple half moon resting just beneath it, and there was no swelling at all. I stared at my reflection and tried to remember who it was I reminded myself of, and then I realized whose likeness I was thinking of, and it felt as though the world had come crashing down around my shoulders.

I looked like my mother.

I looked like my mother used to look after my father had taken a strip off of her, bruised and humiliated, and broken.

Feeling as though I might throw up, I tore my eyes away from the mirror and forced myself to stare out the window and not at my broken features. A large sign that said "Seattle, 10 miles" flew past, and I felt that faint bit of hope well up inside me again; at least they would know where to start looking for me.

I did the calculations in my head. Even though all the cities and gas-stations and stretches of highway had managed to blur into one in my mind, the one fact I held onto was that Devlin had not yet slept, which meant we couldn't have been driving more than two days, if that. That would put Devlin's "house" at about a day and a half's drive from Vegas. I sank down in my seat a little. At almost four days of driving, any hope of a rescue seemed a long way off, and that was assuming that someone had received my message before my phone was destroyed.

I just prayed I had that long left.

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"I grew up here, you know," Devlin shared quietly as we took a sharp turn.

I snorted, amused by the fact that he thought I cared anything about knowing who he was or where he was from, but other than that kept my thoughts to myself.

_It really is the Emerald City,_ I marveled as we continued to wind through the busy streets of Seattle. It was so green and lush, a striking contrast to the monochromatic dead-brown color of life in Nevada. This time Devlin actually had made me crouch down in front of my seat, so the top of my head was just under the passenger side window, rendering me invisible to passers-by. I had protested to sitting on the floor at first, informing Devlin I wasn't his pet German Shepard, but surprisingly all that got me was a smack upside the head and a death threat. I figured Grissom wouldn't have been too impressed if he somehow managed to find me only to discover that I had been killed because of my inability to keep my damn mouth shut, so I decided to play the role of the strong silent type from then on.

I wondered why it mattered now whether or not I sat in plain view, guessing that he either didn't want to get recognized by someone he knew and end up being seen with me, or he just didn't want me to know the exact location of where we were going. The back of my head smacked into the glove compartment as he took a hard brake, making me wince and grit my teeth. "Almost there," he said by way of an apology, and sure enough a few minutes later the car stopped.

He pulled me back into my seat as he gathered together a few things from the car, giving me time to take in my surroundings. We were in some back alley in what looked like a shady area of town that gave off an industrial, nostalgic feeling. The brown stone buildings surrounding us on both sides looked mistreated and abandoned, and the sky that hung above us was a mournful grey, with darker clouds in the distance threatening rain.

Drooping, melancholy power lines hung limply above our heads like a sort of inverted, somber rainbow, and the smell of fresh rain and fried foods hung in the air. "Home sweet home," I muttered, eyeing the broken down building beside us.

"Not for long, my sweet," Devlin added ruefully, looking at me the same way I imagined I had looked at my old dog Atticus when I decided it was time for him to be put down.

I shivered at this, and said bravely, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"If you care about me as much as you say you do, why hurt me? Why kill me?"

He stared at the grey sky above us, the clean, white light that only clouded weather can provide making his face seem clean, real; human. "That is a good question," he answered at last. "The thing is, I just don't know the reason for sure. I had a good childhood, loving parents, no traumatic events to speak of, and yet…" he trailed off, "and yet I am capable of such evil. I get pleasure out of such heinous crimes, and the closest thing I know to love is when I see the light in my victims' eyes go out for the last time. I have thought about your question time and again my whole life over, Sara, and the only answer I have been able to come up with is this," he turned to me and smiled with an apologetic, innocent shrug, "some people are just born bad."

I went over all the possible responses he could have provided to my question, and concluded that this answer was by far the worst, and most soul-chilling that he could have given. I sent a silent prayer to Grissom to hurry the Hell up and find me already, and the look on my face must have given me away.

"You have such determination in your eyes," he mused, "I suppose you think your Mr. Grishom will rescue you, is that it?"

"Something like that," I answered calmly.

He laughed, low and mocking, and said nothing.

"What, you think that's funny?" I asked defensively.

"Oh, little girl, can you really be so naïve? I would think in your line of work you would know better." He glanced at me briefly before looking back out the front window. "I rigged every single one of those doors, excluding the one we left through, which I doubt he'll ever find, to decapitate anyone who tries to open them." He shook his head. "I didn't kill him in front of you because the idea that he might save you was the only thing that was keeping you compliant. Think about it Sara, would you really have been so accommodating if you knew the one thing you were depending on to save you was gone?"

I felt as though the sky was falling. As though up was down, and black was white, and everything I ever knew or ever thought I knew was wrong or never even existed in the first place. It was like dying, or what I thought it might be like to die.

He watched me as all of this went through my mind, and I could tell that he was drinking in every moment of it. The look in his eyes was one of ecstasy; near-orgasmic pleasure. I watched him entertaining himself as my world fell apart, and realized that he really did live for this.

It wasn't the killing, or the torture, or the rape; it was the product of those things, that one moment when he realized that he'd taken a strong, good person, and broken them beyond repair. But the joke was on him. I knew in that instant that Grissom was alive. If he wasn't I still wouldn't have this feeling deep inside of me, the only thing that Devlin really wanted from me, but also the one thing I was clinging to the hardest:

Hope.

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_Thanks again, and don't worry I won't be dragging this out much longer :)_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello darlings, I hope you like this one! It may be at least a week and a bit before I can get you what I believe to be the last chapter to this story, as I'm going to be going away for a few days. But I was thoughtful and made sure to finish this chapter before I left, as I've had a few requests to hurry it up. Enjoy and please tell me that you think! LOVE YOU ALLLLLLLL!_

_Solomynne_

_Disclaimer: No way not mine, but my birthday's on the 21__st__…._

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_Time flies, time dies._

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_I dreamed of my death._

_In my dream, Grissom called upon me to help him work a crime scene. I arrived at a familiar apartment with soft, purple walls; Brass and other officers standing aside to let me pass under the tell-tale yellow tape. I approached the hunched form of Grissom's back as he crouched over something, the burning white of his camera's flash flaring. He turned as I came to stand beside him, looking up at me with pity. I frowned in confusion as I watched him turn away from me and lift a white sheet off of the body that lay face-up on the floor, revealing the identity of the victim to be none other than myself. I looked down upon my own naked, broken body; my bare limbs and chest a roadmap of pain and torture. I observed my waxy, pallid skin and clouded, glassy eyes staring through me vacantly, and I felt nothing but an empty, black hollow in my heart. _

_Then, my corpse had sat up, eyelids fluttering open, dead bones and muscles protesting with dry cracks and wet snaps. Its empty eyes took on a small, wavering spark of life as the thin, blue lips formed words, the decaying pieces of my dead body forcing wind through its trachea. "This is your future," the dead me whispered, gesturing to her surroundings, to the strangulation marks enveloping her throat like a macabre necklace. "But it doesn't have to be." The voice emanating from its mouth sounded strange, a mixture of my own husky voice and something older, and darker... Its breath smelled heavily of wet earth and rain. _

_I knelt before my dead Self, staring into her bloodshot, unblinking eyes. "How?" I whispered, "How do I stop it from happening? How do I save my life?"_

_She reached an ivory, blue-veined arm out to me, and grabbed my wrist with an inhuman strength. I cried out, but couldn't take my eyes away from hers. She leaned forward and whispered to me, her breath cold and sour._

"_Wait."_

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I stared out the small window above my head, the early morning sky I saw there as grey and melancholy as my mood. I was locked in a storage room in the basement of an old brick building, damp and cold, and utterly alone.

Except for the rats.

I sighed and went over my haunting dream in my head for the millionth time. It had been half a day since Devlin and I had arrived in Seattle, that's nearly twelve hours of being locked in that godforsaken, rat-infested, freezing, mildew-y, prison, and I was starting to go stir-crazy. I didn't know where Devlin had gone, or why he was keeping me there instead of getting on with the whole torturing-and-killing me agenda. Not that I was complaining of course. Besides as far as I knew he was probably just out buying the appropriate power tools.

Sighing, I sat down, leaning on a hard cement wall. I tapped my foot impatiently on the ground, then stood and began pacing again, the same thing I had been doing for hours. First, I'd checked all the possible escape routes – there were none – then, I'd seen about trying to pry the bars off of the small window that was just above my head – no dice – so I had just started to pace.

And pace.

And pace.

It was driving me crazy not being able to do anything, I was so sick of…_waiting._

"But what did that even mean?" I asked myself out loud. My voice echoed off the walls and made me realize how alone I was. It frightened me, and I began to pace faster. _Wait for what?_ I thought.

_To die? _

_To be rescued? _

_For a moment of opportunity?_

I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair. It was all getting to be way too much. Exasperated, I stood on a rickety, wooden crate and leaned my face on the cool, metal bars of the window, careful not to cut myself on the shattered remains of the dirty glass. My face level with the ground, the sweet scent of wet pavement washed over me, the only sound was the rain softly plinking on the metal dumpsters across the alley. My vision was limited to what little of the alley I could see from my position, and the patches of cloudy sky above. There was no use in calling for help, the place was virtually deserted. I hadn't seen a car or person go past since we'd arrived.

I guessed that was why Devlin had chosen it in the first place. I sighed and stared at the oil-rainbows floating on the surface of the puddles that had collected in front of the window, letting them hypnotize me until my brain was, for the first time in a long time, at rest.

The sound of the rain began to soothe me, and I nearly dozed off, but just as my eyelids began to close I heard the heavy lock on the door to the basement clanking, and I spun around in time to see a very livid Devlin stalk into the room. His face was white with rage, blue eyes blazing. "You bitch." He hissed.

I gaped at this sudden, unexpected reaction, and was stunned into silence. He took a few steps closer and pointed a quivering, accusatory finger at me. "What did you do?" He demanded. I opened and closed my mouth, at a total loss for words. "Answer me!" he roared.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" I yelled back. "I didn't do anything, I haven't even left this room since I got here, what could I possibly have done?!"

His eyes narrowed and he closed the distance between us, grabbing an arm in one hand, and a fistful of hair in the other. I yelled and fought against him, but the tight grip he had on my hair was starting to make my eyes water. He hauled me across the room and through the heavy door, to another section of the basement, what looked like a boiler room.

We passed through it and into a laundry room, where a large washtub was just finishing being filled to the brim with ice-cold water. He pushed me towards it and let go of my arm, keeping a tight hold on my hair. With his free hand he reached back and removed his gun from the back of his pants, pressing it gently against my skull.

"You did something with that cell phone of yours," he growled, "and I want to know what."

Growing up, I had learned to detach myself from unpleasant experiences. My mind would become numb, and I would slowly be removed from myself; an objective observer to a horrible situation. The mastery of this state of mind had saved me time and again, and though it had been years since I had been in need of it, I welcomed it like an old friend, inviting its blank, detached, unemotional feeling to wash over me.

Devlin stared at me, waiting for a response. "You threw my cell phone out the window," I answered absently, gazing through the rippling water to the rusted bottom of the wash basin.

With that, he pushed my head into the tub, plunging my face into the ice-cold water. I struggled against him, thrashing and flailing until both of us were soaked, but that only made him shove my head in deeper. I pushed against the rim of the tub with all my might, trying to throw him off my back and pull my head out, but he stood tight up against me, pinning me to the edge of the tub. Finally, just as I was about to see stars, he pulled my face out of the water, dripping and gasping for breath. "What the fuck!" I screamed at him.

"What did you do with your cell phone?" he asked again calmly, pressing the edge of the gun barrel against my cheek. I opened my mouth to answer and he interrupted me, "and I mean _before_ it was destroyed."

I glared at him, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He plunged my head in again. I was expecting it this time, but it was still terrifying. It seems I wasn't so good at maintaining that uncaring state of mind after all. He wrenched my head out again, sputtering and coughing, and continued as though nothing had happened.

"There are cops crawling all over town, and I know it has something to do with you." He glared at me, "Did you call your boyfriend? No wait, that wouldn't do, in his present condition," he chuckled. "Did you call one of your fellow CSIs and tell them where you were headed?" I met his eyes and remained silent, the only sound was my heavy breathing, and the plunking echo of droplets running off my face and hitting the surface of the water.

"Sara," he whispered, his countenance changing. He was going from bad cop to good cop, his voice becoming less demanding, more pleading. "Why are you making this hard on yourself? I need to know what they know, in order to decide my next plan of action. All I'm asking for is a little co-operation. Or would you rather end up like your dear beloved Grishom?" he taunted.

I shot him a dark, crooked smile, a hot streak of anger and defiance rushing through my chest. "His name," I said firmly, my eyes boring into his, "is _Grissom._"

Devlin backhanded me, hard, and dunked me back in the water. I screamed and thrashed as hard as ever, spots forming in front of my eyes as the lack of oxygen took its effect. I was about to give one last good, hard flail, when the image of my dead, dream Self flashed into my mind. _"Wait…_" its voice repeated.

And I did.

I went limp, my arms falling lamely to my sides. I held my breath and let all my muscles relax, until the only thing keeping me standing was Devlin himself, pinning me up against the side of the tub.

I felt my heartbeat slow, and my blood thicken, and I waited.

My throat was burning, my lungs felt like they were going to burst, and I waited.

My head began to spin, my ties on consciousness loosening, and still I waited

After what seemed like eternity, just as I was about to give in and take a deep lungful of water, Devlin's grip on my hair loosened. He gave my head one final shake, as if to make sure he had gotten all of the life out of me, and then let go of me completely, taking a step backwards. Without him holding me up I slumped to the floor in a heap, my head smacking against the edge of the basin. I did my best not to gasp for air, taking in only the tiniest amount possible, so my chest wouldn't show any signs of expansion. My head pounding, I felt him staring down at me, and I played dead like my life depended on it. Which it did; funnily enough.

He took a step towards me and gave me a light kick in the ribs, watching for a reaction. In an Oscar-worthy performance, I took the kick without so much as a cringe, and remained completely still, waiting for him to give up. "What a waste," I heard him mutter. He knelt down until his face was inches from mine, so close I could feel his warm breath on my cheeks. He brushed away a wet strand of hair and kissed my forehead gently. "You were supposed to be special," he lamented. "I was really going to take my time with you." He stood again and left the room briefly, returning moments later with what I discovered was a sheet, recognizing the _whoosh _sound it made as he flung it out and let it fall over me like a shroud.

With a chilling expertise, he wrapped me quickly and efficiently, hoisting my body over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and taking me out of the room as though I were nothing more than a rolled-up carpet. Through the thin sheeting I ventured to open my eyes, and saw the bouncing image of the laundry room passing by, followed by the narrow, steep set of stairs he had made me walk down hours before. He kicked the door at the top of the stairs open and walked out into the ruined remains of the apartment building's first floor, walking briskly across the cracked, dirty tile to a side door that lead to the alley. We brushed past a set of heavy, dusty linen curtains as he reached an arm out to open the latch, and a cloud of dust billowed out, settling on us like fairy dust.

I thought being under the sheet would protect me from having to worry about my allergy, but apparently the thin cotton was no match for the years of dust that had accumulated in the curtains, because only moments afterwards I felt my nose begin to itch. I clenched my teeth and held my breath and prayed like nothing else, but once a sneeze has started, there's no stopping it.

Or the second one.

Or the third one.

I felt Devlin freeze under me as the supposedly dead body he had been carrying sniffled miserably and waited for what came next.

"What the fuck?!" he howled, throwing me to the floor. I heard the sound of cloth ripping as he pulled out a pocket knife and slit the sheet open, the dusty, grey light spilling in from the curtained windows making me squint.

"You're alive?!" he sputtered, gawking at me.

"So it would seem," I answered tiredly.

"You little bitch!" he said, aghast. He grabbed me by one arm and dragged me a few feet to the rotting remains of the wooden staircase leading to the second floor. He pointed the blade of his knife to my throat with one hand, and used the other to rip a strip of the sheet off. My hands were still raw and sore from being handcuffed, and they began to bleed freely again as he used his favorite method of kneeling on one wrist and tying the other tightly, except this time he was binding instead of bandaging. Less than ninety seconds later I was tied by the wrists to the old, rickety banister, my back leaning up against the bottom step.

He stood up and glared at me, admiring his handiwork as I tried to ignore the pulsing pain in my wrists, and the throbbing one in my head. I was so weary of fighting that at this point I was almost ready to call it quits.

_Almost._

Devlin's furious words kept me hopeful still as I lay splayed out before him like a lamb to the slaughter, "the cops are everywhere"…

The panicked memory of me shoving my cell phone's GPS chip into my sock only made me hope even harder that I still had a fighting chance. Feeling a little more uplifted as Devlin's calculating eyes ran over my body, wondering what he should do first, I eyed the rotting wood of the banister and wondered whether it was decayed enough for me to rip it apart entirely.

"Well Sara, I have to applaud you," Devlin simpered as he crouched before me, tossing his pocket knife cockily from hand to hand. "You really almost had me there. I knew I should have checked your eyes to make sure you were really gone, but you just seemed so…._dead_," he finished, grinning.

"Well, no matter," he continued cheerfully, my eyes on his knife as he threw it left, to right, to left, to right... "The important thing is that we're together now. And you know what that means."

_Left, right, left, right…_

"There's plenty of time,"

_Left, right, left, right…_

"To have a little fun." His face twisted into an awful, evil grin, a smile that promised death and pain, and more besides. In that moment, my eyes never leaving the knife, I kicked my leg out and knocked the knife out of his hands, sending it flying. Using that moment of confusion to the utmost advantage, I wrenched my wrists as hard as I could on the cloth sheets and heard the loud crack of the old wooden banister snapping under the pressure.

I launched myself on top of Devlin, bowling him over backwards, his head smacking into the ground with a sound akin to that of a wet coconut being hurled onto pavement. I kneed him in the groin, grinding his testicles as hard as I could, not stopping until I heard his animalistic howls of pain. I leapt off him then and tried to run, but even in his concussed state he managed to grab an ankle and pull me back down.

His arm swung out and reached for the knife that had skittered across the floor, and suddenly he was sitting on my chest, one hand around my throat, the other fighting to plunge the knife deep into my chest.

I had my hands on his, simultaneously trying to keep myself from choking, and pushing on his wrist with all my strength as the sharp steel of his knife glinted down at me. I was gasping for breath, his fingers tightening around my neck, and then suddenly he was gone.

Or rather, he was everywhere.

A warm, red mist was slowly settling onto my face, arms, and chest. I watched in slow motion, like a silent film, as men in uniforms rushed into all points of my vision, blocking out the light. I tried to sit up, catching a glimpse of a mangled body; bits of cranium and pink brain speckling the walls, but someone's hand was on my chest, pushing me back down.

The hand was gentle, and warm, and touching me all over. A voice, muffled and far-away, was saying my name over and over. The concerned face of a man hovered above mine, a flashlight slicing into my pupil and then clicking off. Then arms were lifting me, carrying me away, strong and safe and good.

I looked at the face of my rescuer, and the familiar blue eyes stared into mine, full of grief and relief and love. Blue eyes that were so unlike Devlin's it was hard to believe that both kinds could exist simultaneously. Devlin's were hard, cruel, and glittering. These were soft, sweet, and sparkling with tears.

I knew these eyes.

"Grissom…"

"Sara, honey, don't try to talk. Your head is bleeding pretty badly, just hang on I'm taking you to the hospital." His voice was full of concern and guilt as he looked down at me. "I'm sorry I took so long," he whispered.

"It's alright Griss," I smiled, feeling the sweet, dark presence of unconsciousness calling me, "it was worth the wait."

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Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! –Sol.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey there everyone. Okay so here it is, the last chapter. I hope you like it, and allow me to apologize for how long it took me to complete it. A week of surfing with a cold swiftly turned into bronchitis, and a trip to the ER. I have hairline fractures on my ribs from coughing, so I was a bit too drugged out in the past little while to be capable of writing anything other than my own name, and even that was a stretch. So I hope that is a sufficient enough excuse for you all and I won't be getting any complaints about people having to re-read my story to remember what was happening (although I do apologize for that). Anyway, thank you all so very much for reading along, I love each and every one of you for it! Leave a comment if you can, give me something to read as I'm still on bedrest._

_LOVE TO YOU ALL! -Solomynne_

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_-Tie my right hand to the Bible._

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_A blue moon hovered above us._

_I rocked back gently in my swing, letting the tips of my toes drag lightly on the ground._

_Mother looked at me, her features illuminated by the glowing moon, giving her an ethereal look. "I knew you'd be back," she smiled._

"_It wasn't easy," I answered._

"_It never is," she replied. "But you've been given a second chance. Something that many people, myself included, would do almost anything for."_

_She turned to me, her hands completely smooth on the chains of the swing. _

"_Don't waste it."_

_I looked at her as she smiled at me, and I saw so much of myself in her. It both frightened and comforted me. I took her hand in mine and looked at the sky. _

"_You know I won't."_

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It wasn't exactly a near-death experience.

I wouldn't go that far. There was no white light at the end of a tunnel or anything.

It was more of an _almost_-death experience.

A _nearly_ near-death experience.

A morbid moment.

Still; in spite of the fact that I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, almost-nearly dying definitely helps you to get your priorities straight. It allows you to see what's important, and what isn't.

That sounds cliché, I know, and it _is_; but it's only cliché because it's true.

As I lay in the sterile hospital room, a soft light filtering in through the institutional-teal colored curtains, I knew what mattered most to me; and it wasn't whether or not I could afford that new computer I'd been wanting, or if Ecklie would ever just grow up and blow away.

It was seeing the love I felt for my friends and teammates reflecting back at me in their own caring eyes. It was the warm feeling of waking up next to Grissom, even if it was only pretend. It was not being afraid of love, or consequences, or living.

Maybe all that's cliché too, I don't know. And I don't care, because I've learned that caring about what other people think is yet another item in the long list of things that I no longer give a shit about.

As this whole epiphany was dawning on me, I was so deep in thought that I didn't even notice when Grissom sat down next to me, pulling a cold metal chair up to the bed. His warm hand on mine drew me out of my pensive state, and I turned to look at him. The relief and happiness in his eyes was enough to make me smile warmly at him.

"You're awfully happy for someone who was nearly killed today," he mused quietly, not taking his eyes from mine.

"But I wasn't killed was I?" I quipped. "And I can't think of a better reason to smile than that, can you?"

He smiled back at me and squeezed my hand. "No, honey, I can't." For a moment I thought his eyes were shining with tears, but he looked away briefly and when he turned back they were clear. "How's your head?" he asked awkwardly, obviously at a loss as to what to say.

If only he could have understood that he didn't need to say anything at all. I think the day he is that intuitive will be the day that peace settles over the world.

"My head is fine," I assured him, running my finger absently over the stitches on my forehead. "As for my wrists," I cringed, brandishing my bandaged hands, "those will take a little longer to heal."

He frowned and took my hand in between his. The rush from that small gesture made me feel better than any pain-killer they could have injected into my IV line. Relishing in his warm gaze, I realized once again how close we had come to losing each other, and I was overwhelmed with the desire to be wrapped in his arms, safe and warm.

"Sara…"

I looked up at him, listening intently.

"Sara I was so worried about you," he said gently, "I thought I was going to go crazy. Not knowing where you were or what was happening to you was the most frightening experience of my life."

I could tell it was a struggle for him to confess these things to me, so I held back and remained silent, not wanting to interrupt lest he lose his courage.

He looked at me, grasping for words, "I – I don't ever want to feel like that again. I don't ever want to be so worried that I can't eat, or sleep, or think straight. It unsettles me how…out of control I felt." He fiddled with his glasses adorably, "That is, well what I'm trying to say is… "

I held up a hand, silencing him. "Grissom. Lie down with me? Please?" I smiled and held my arms out to him. He looked at me for a moment, grateful that I hadn't made him spell out his feelings. I think it's why we work so well together. I don't need to hear it. I can look at him, and I just know by the look in his eyes. He took hold of my hands, kissing my palms sweetly before settling in next to me. I wrapped my arms around him gratefully, breathing him in, and buried my face in the warmth of his neck.

I felt his arms snaking around my back, his hand rubbing the back of my neck soothingly. My throat tightened as I thanked God for letting me live to experience this moment, and for the first time since I had been taken, I allowed myself to really, truly cry.

Grissom's embrace tightened as my wracking sobs shook us both. I pressed my face harder into his neck, holding him so close I thought I might squeeze him to death.

"Oh Sara," Grissom whispered, "I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have known."

"No," I protested, shaking my head against him. I looked up, sniffling, eyes streaming, and the guilt in his eyes broke my heart. "No, it wasn't your fault. You saved me, remember? You did everything right."

He looked down at me seriously, running his fingers through my hair with one hand. "No, Sara, I didn't. The right thing to do would have been to tell you how I felt about you right from the start, instead of hurting you like I did. You know the reasons for my actions towards you, though I'm not saying that those reasons are anything except a weak excuse for my cowardliness."

I looked up at him, speechless. "I'm ashamed of myself," he finished, "and I only hope that you can forgive me for being such a fool. I know you don't need me to say it, but I want to, because I love you Sara. And I won't lose you again.

I grinned and leaned towards him, whispering harshly in his ear, "Prove it."

He kissed me softly, deeply, running his hand into the open back of my hospital gown. I pulled him on top of me, kissing him harder as I wrapped my legs around him, ignoring the pain from all the cuts and bruises mottling my body. Our hands ran over each other greedily, desperately, throwing caution to the wind. I pulled him tightly up against me, dipping my hand into the waist of the back of his jeans and then running my fingers slowly, deliberately up his spine. Just as it was about to get R-rated, a knock at the door interrupted us, Grissom pulling away from my hot, devouring kisses to look towards the door.

My head fell back on the pillow in annoyance as Grissom slid off the bed with admirable agility and walked towards the door, throwing a wistful glance over his shoulder at me as I tried to regain my composure, smoothing out my gown and the blankets. He opened the door and Brass walked in, the detective in him taking note of my flushed skin and tousled hair, and the friend in him deciding not to say anything about it.

"Sara, it's good to have you back," he said gruffly, crossing the room and pulling me into a quick, tight hug, his brown tweed suit scratching my bare skin.

"Thanks Brass," I smiled up at him.

"That's one hell of a black eye you got yourself," he said in a fatherly tone. He pulled my chin up with a finger and tilted my head in the light, examining the gash on my forehead. "And a nice fat lip to top it all off," he muttered. "Well the bastard got what was coming to him, in any case." He patted my cheek gently and then walked back towards the door, turning to face me at the doorway. "If you're feeling up to it, I have someone here who would like to meet you," he said over his shoulder, gesturing a hand out to the hall.

"Sure," I answered in surprise, "who is it?"

"One second," he said, holding up a finger and leaving the room.

Grissom looked back at me, shrugging his shoulders and smiling at my questioning look. "Don't look so smug," I said laughing, "you're in real trouble later."

"I can hardly wait," he answered softly, with a voice that held a lot of promise.

Brass re-entered then, a thin woman with dark hair following shyly behind him. I recognized her but I couldn't quite remember where I had seen her. "Sara," said Brass, reaching back and nudging the girl closer to me, "this is Jennifer Kostuik. She's been asking to see you ever since you were brought in."

My mouth dropped open a little as I remembered how she had looked the last time I had seen her, pale and bruised in a hospital bed, much like I must have looked. The image of her name scratched hastily into the wall at Devlin's house popped into my head, and my heart swelled with happiness to see that she had recovered. Her skin was no longer sallow and pallid, and her wounds had nearly completely healed, save a few ghostly scars visible on her collarbone.

Her eyes were dark and sparkling, and she held out a hand to me as she approached, smiling. "Ms. Sidle," she said; her voice strong and clear, "I wanted to thank you and Mr. Grissom for everything you did," she glanced at Grissom, "You know, for getting the son of a bitch. I can sleep at night now, knowing he's gone, and I have you to thank for that."

I took her hand and shook it, our eyes meeting in a moment of unity. We both understood that we shared a common bond, that we had experienced something that most people would never be able to fathom, and that connected us whether we liked it or not.

I sat up in bed, gesturing for her to sit down.

"I'm glad to see that you're fairing better than the last time I saw you," I said, smiling. "But then I knew you would pull through, you seemed like a fighter. You must be," I added, "after all, you managed to escape from him."

"Barely," she said humbly. "But you…you took him down. He won't ever be able to hurt another woman again. Not ever."

"No, you're right," I mused. "He won't."

Jennifer shifted in her seat, and I could tell she was getting ready to ask me something.

"What is it?" I asked, curious.

She brought her eyes up to meet my own, taking a breath, "The city is helping to fund a joint funeral for all the women that weren't as lucky as we were," she said quickly. "The families have requested that you and I come for the burial. They were hoping you would say something, you know give a speech. They think of you as quite the hero."

"A speech?" I asked incredulously. I really didn't feel like any sort of a hero, to me it seemed more like I had lucked my way out of being killed.

"These families are so grateful to you for helping them gain closure," Jennifer continued. "It would mean a lot to them, and I'm sure their daughters, if you were there." She turned, "And you as well, Mr. Grissom."

My stomach reeled at the thought of having to attend a funeral. I hadn't been to one since my father's and that was how I wanted to keep it. But the look in Jennifer's eyes was not something I could just dismiss. Still flabbergasted at the idea of these victim's families seeing me as the captor of their daughters' killers, there was nothing I could say, no other answer I wanted to give, except "Tell them I would be honored, Jennifer."

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A week later I stood in front of the full length mirror on my closet door, smoothing out the simple black dress I wore, and trying in vain to cover my healing wounds up with makeup. Grissom walked in from the hallway, having arrived fifteen minutes earlier to pick me up.

"Are you almost ready?" he asked.

I turned to him. "Yeah. Just trying to do a little patch-up job on these battle scars."

"Don't cover them up," he said, walking towards me. "Wear them with pride. You earned them."

I sighed, "Well if this was my reward for helping to catch the guy I think I would have preferred some flowers."

He laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you sure you're up for this? You're still on doctor's orders to stay home and get some rest for the rest of the week."

"I'll be fine," I assured him, turning and smoothing a strand of hair in the mirror. "As for this speech, I still haven't figured out what I'm going to say. What is there to say, really?"

"Speak from the heart, it works every time," he answered, standing. "You're right, you'll be fine. Better than fine. Fantastic."

I sighed, frowning at my still-swollen bottom lip, "Let's not go overboard."

"I'm not going overboard," he said, as I watched him come to stand behind me in the mirror. "You're beautiful. Scars and all."

It still threw me off how open he had become with me. That's not to say that I didn't love it, but it would definitely take some getting used to. He put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a crooked smile in the mirror. I leaned back into him and he put his arms around me. I turned into him and kissed him gently, resting my head on his chest. He lifted my face to his and kissed my neck sweetly. I desperately wanted him to continue, but Brass, who was carpooling with us, interrupted with a very well-meant honk of encouragement.

"Time to go," I moaned.

He smiled, nodding, and put a hand on the small of my back as we headed for the ever-so-patiently honking Jim Brass.

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"Okay, I was wrong."

"What?"

I turned to Grissom in a moment of panic. "I'm not fine. I can't do this." I wheeled around and spread my hand over the virtual sea of people that had come out for the funeral. Correction: _funerals._

Ever since we had arrived at the cemetery, the gloomy day promising rain, a feeling of dread had begun gnawing in the pit of my stomach, only increasing as we walked past a line of blown-up pictures of all the women that we were burying that day. Their hopeful faces and shining eyes, surrounded in funeral wreaths, haunted me terribly. Weaving my way through the crowd of people, the eerie feeling that a funeral can produce began wrapping itself chillingly around my heart, worsening the unrest I was experiencing. There must have been over two hundred people there, and yet there was a muted hush that had fallen over everyone like a shroud.

It reminded me of my father's funeral. Too quiet for so many people.

The memories began to roll into my mind, images and feelings that I had kept at bay for many years. I knew there was a reason I chose to avoid funerals at all costs.

The fuzzy visions of women's stocking legs and hems of black gowns poured into my head. Droning priests and dry eyes, people who would miss my father about as much as my mother would. That being not at all. I would have liked to feel nothing about him, like they did. Except maybe an obligation. But as much as I feared my father, the unconditional love a child has for a parent, even an abusive one, still held strong in my heart.

I remember feeling a great, consuming sadness, and not just at losing my father, but at the realization that I would never have the opportunity to make him proud of me. To make him happy, for once. It was all I had ever wanted to do. I had foolishly believed, in my childish hopefulness, that if only I could make him happy, then everything would be different.

In a way I had gotten what I had wanted. Nothing was ever the same again

I felt Grissom's hand grip my elbow, snapping me out of my reverie and guiding me to a quiet corner of the cemetery, leaning on a grave. The weeping willow that grew behind us caressed us with its long, soft stems in the wind.

I wiped away rain and moss on the cracked headstone, reading the name Elliot Worthing, and wondered who he was. I wondered who his father was, and if Elliot had ever had the chance to make him proud.

"Talk to me," Grissom said sternly. "What's going on?"

"I can't be here," I said, looking away from the headstone. "I don't _do_ funerals, I can't…I can't do this speech, I can't face those people and pretend to be something that I'm not."

"And just what are you pretending?" Grissom asked skeptically, crossing his arms.

"They think I'm some kind of a hero. I'm not one, okay? I was just doing my job," I explained, sitting in the damp grass and leaning my back against the cold grave. I ran my fingers through the long green blades, droplets of rain gathering on my fingertips.

Grissom sighed and knelt beside me, taking my hand and looking at me intently. "Sara even you must know that going undercover, risking your life, is something that is far beyond anything in your job description. You are an incredibly brave woman; you faced the monster that brought so many others down. It's in facing what scares us the most that we discover who we really are."

"But I'm--" I protested.

"Sara why did you become a CSI? Why did you accept the job that Palmer offered to you?"

I remained silent for a moment, then answered slowly, "Because I want to help people."

"And you did. And you will again. So be proud of it, I know I am. And I know your parents would be proud of you too."

My eyes filled with tears, and I leaned into his arms. He rubbed my back gently, soothing me. After some time, he pulled me away from him and looked down at me lovingly. "It's time."

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I stood at the podium, facing the crowd that stared up at me with the hollow eyes of those who had just lost a loved one.

The clouded sky continued to pour down a light rain that speckled the programmes we had been handed as we entered, blurring the ink. Black umbrellas blossomed all across the seated crowed like deathly roses, covering bowed heads. I gripped the sides of the podium and closed my eyes for a moment, gaining my composure.

I felt the rain on my face, and Grissom, Brass and Jennifer standing just behind me. I thought of Devlin, and what he had told me. _"Some people are just born bad."_ Opening my eyes, I cleared my throat and began to speak, knowing just exactly what to say.

"Hello. My name is Sara Sidle."

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_Thanks so much for reading, and don't forget to let me know what you think!_

_Solomynne_


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